A Dark Wood
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: Mid June 1982. Jack has just been released from CIA custody. Irina is still in Kashmir. AU.
1. prologue

Title: A Dark Wood  
Author: Melanie-Anne  
Disclaimer: Not my characters, alas.  
Rating: Let's go with M, 'cause I'm not sure how dark this is going to get.  
Summary: Mid-June 1982. Jack has just been released from CIA custody. Irina is still in Kashmir. AU.

_Midway this way of life we're bound upon,  
__I woke to find myself in a dark wood,  
__Where the right road was wholly lost and gone._

-- Dante's _Inferno_, canto 1 l. 1-3

Prologue

_February 1982_

She lay curled up into a fetal position on the cool concrete floor. The room was small and poorly ventilated, and the smell of blood choked her throat with each breath she drew. A part of her wondered if she should just stop breathing and be done with it, but there was another part of her that refused to stop fighting.

Another wave of cramps hit. She rolled over and pushed her hands against the wall to try and brace herself against the pain. It didn't work – she'd known it wouldn't. As she felt the warm liquid against her thighs, she realized she might end up dying here after all. She needed a doctor –

_-- she needed her husband --_

-- or she would bleed to death on the floor of this cell.

She was fairly certain they didn't want her dead, or they would have executed her long before this. No, she was still one of their most valuable assets, worth the re-education.

Another cramp. Then, nothing.

She tentatively probed her stomach with the tips of her fingers. She hissed at the contact. It still hurt.

Everything still hurt.

She called out for help, knowing someone was listening, even if no one ever answered. Her throat was dry, her voice scratchy as a result of screaming all the time. She sat up, leaning with her back against the wall, facing the direction she thought the door was.

No one came.

She closed her eyes, pictured her husband's smiling face, their daughter's, and felt loss upon loss upon loss.

I'm sorry, she thought as the blackness claimed her.


	2. Chapter one

Chapter one

_June 1982_

Jack studied his cell and thought, _well, shit_.

He knew he shouldn't have taken this mission. What he should have done on his release from solitary two weeks ago, was hand in his resignation and tell the Agency exactly what it could do with itself. If he'd done that, he would be at home with Sydney now instead of a prison in the middle of Kashmir.

Thoughts of Sydney brought with them feelings of guilt. He'd been away from her for six months, and the first thing he'd done when he got home was leave again. If he believed in God, he'd think this was his punishment. Laura had often tried to convince him to attend church with her—

Laura. Not Laura. Irina Derevko.

For six months his thoughts had followed the same pattern: Sydney, Laura, Irina, Laura, Sydney. Circles.

He'd hugged Sydney when he was finally allowed to see her again, and all he could see was Laura in her eyes, her smile, the curve of her cheek.

Not Laura. Irina.

He was such a fool. But he'd been in love, and she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and he'd spent six months going over everything he could remember her saying or doing. He didn't want to believe it had all been a lie. She'd loved him, loved Sydney.

No, Laura had loved him, loved Sydney. He knew nothing of the woman who'd pretended to be her.

Enough thoughts of her. He needed to think about escaping, and once he got back, he _would_ hand in that resignation.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. Jack stood and faced the door. Instead of anyone stopping to see him, the footsteps carried on past the door. He heard another sound, something dragging.

In Russian, "Get up, bitch."

A muffled noise, and someone cried out in pain. Jack instantly tensed. Then, the newly-suspicious part of his mind wondered if this was an act to intimidate him, an anticipation of torture before anyone came to him.

The Russians had lost out when they caught him, he thought. Six months in solitary meant he knew next to no information of importance. He almost smiled, then someone screamed.

His blood ran cold. There was no mistaking the terror in that sound, and he was pretty sure it couldn't be faked. He felt sorry for whoever it was and instinctively took a step towards the door before he realized he was in no position to help. He lay down on the bed and tried to block out the screams as he thought about how he was going to escape.

Moonlight shone through thin ventilation shafts, painting the room in pale stripes. Jack had already checked the shaft; it would be of no use. He'd also checked every other inch of the room and found nothing. Frustrated, he looked at the shaft again, and had the sudden desire to see the sky.

This claustrophobia was new. Six months ago, it had not existed. It was something else to blame Laura – Irina – for.

No. Don't think about her.

His fingers scrabbled in the grate for a firmer hold, and he felt something sharp prick him. He released his hand. In the dim light he saw blood welling up on his fingertip, and immediately put it in his mouth. With his free hand, he carefully felt for what had cut him, eventually pulling free a piece of broken glass.

It didn't matter how it had got there or how long it had been there. Jack felt a sudden burst of hope – thought, _Sydney_! – and returned to his seat on the bed.

Roughly an hour later, there were more footsteps. This time they stopped outside his door. Jack stood. As the door opened and the guard entered, Jack plunged the glass into his stomach. Before the guard could cry out, Jack pulled him into the room, and snapped his neck.

He took the man's gun, shoving into his waistband before ripping the sheet on the bed into strips to wrap around his hand.

Left or right? He stopped just outside his cell, hesitating. There was light coming from the left.

He went that way. As he neared the end of the hall, another door opened and a different guard entered. Jack ducked into the shadows and watched the guard walk past, zipping up his pants as he did.

The room the guard had left was too quiet for Jack's liking. He tried the door, found it locked, and told himself to keep moving. This was none of his business. If the Russians wanted to rape and kill each other, let them.

And then she moaned.

Suddenly it didn't matter who this woman was. Whatever she had done, it couldn't have been bad enough to deserve this kind of treatment. He returned to his cell and frisked the dead guard's body for his keys. Then he unlocked the other cell.

The woman was on the floor. In the dim light he couldn't see much besides dull white cloth and a tangle of dark hair.

"Go to hell," the woman hissed in Russian.

Already there, Jack thought. Ignoring the sensible voice in his head, the one telling him to forget this woman and leave, he entered the cell and knelt next to her. In badly accented Russian, he said, "I'm not going to hurt you."

The woman gasped and scrambled further away from him. He wondered if he'd unintentionally said something else. He tried again: "Can you stand?"

"Yes."

"You speak English?" He rocked back on his heels, regarding her in surprise.

"Yes." The word came out as a half-sob.

Jack helped her to her feet. She was unimaginably light, and he could feel her bones as she leaned against him. Her head was hanging forward and he couldn't see her face behind the curtain of hair. It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting out of there alive.

She faltered after a few steps. Jack hoisted her up over his shoulder. "I'm sorry if this hurts, but it'll be quicker."

She didn't reply and he wondered if she spoke less English than he thought. He repeated himself in Russian, but there was still no response.

Holding her in place with one hand, he gripped the gun in his other, and began walking.

Not five minutes later, they encountered the first obstacle. Two guards, leaning casually against a doorframe. They turned to look when they heard his approach.

"I thought they were finished with her today," the shorter guard said.

Not the response Jack was expecting. He glanced down, and realized the way he was carrying her blocked his clothes from the guards' view. He smiled, but tightened his grasp on the gun. He wasn't sure why, but he'd decided he wasn't going to leave this hellhole without the woman.

The other guard laughed. "You know Cuvee likes his private sessions."

Jack felt the woman tense, and knew she was still conscious. He forced himself to laugh with the other two men.

"Go on, Comrade." The first guard gestured for Jack to pass.

This time Jack's smile was real. He raised the gun and shot both guards point blank in the head. Then he started running. When he came to the end of the hall, he stopped, unsure which way to go.

"Left," the woman mumbled. Jack had no choice but to trust her.

They worked like that, the woman giving Jack directions, until they reached a wooden door. There was nowhere else to go.

"What's behind here?" Jack asked.

"Freedom."

Jack helped her to a standing position again, leaning her against the wall for support. As light as she was, running with her was not easy.

"Are you sure?"

"Minefield first. Then freedom."

Something about the way she said freedom caught Jack's attention. Gently, he moved the hair obscuring her face and tilted her chin up so he could see her clearly.

And couldn't breathe.

"Laura?"


	3. Chapter two

Chapter two

_Something about the way she said freedom caught Jack's attention. Gently, he moved the hair obscuring her face and tilted her chin up so he could see her clearly._

_And couldn't breathe._

_"Laura?"_

She stared at him, her eyes wide. Her lips moved but there was no sound. Jack stepped away from her, shaking his head in disbelief.

_"Mr. Bristow, there was an accident." Flashing lights, a sympathetic voice, Sydney, wide-eyed and confused._

She reached for him, then dropped her hands.

_"Agent Bristow, Laura was never Laura." Suspicious whispers, stares, less sympathetic voices._

"Jack . . ." The word was barely a whisper.

_"Jack, Irina Derevko died in that river." Arvin, walking him out of the cellblock, speaking low, giving information he was not supposed to share._

He grabbed her by her shoulders, pushing her roughly against the wall. He forgot how sympathetic he'd been when she was just a nameless, faceless woman. It was different now that he was looking into the eyes of his traitorous bitch of a wife.

"You're supposed to be dead."

She blinked. Either he didn't see the tears on her cheeks or he didn't care. His grip tightened and she drew a breath. "Kill me, then."

He pressed the gun to her head. She closed her eyes. His hand trembled and he moved his finger from the trigger.

"I should just leave you here."

"No!" She tried to wrestle the gun from his grasp, but he was stronger. She gave up, sinking to her knees. "Kill me instead. Please."

He had never seen her this defeated, and wondered how long it had taken them to break her. Laura had always been strong.

Irina, he reminded himself, but strangely, he couldn't grasp his previous anger. He couldn't stand to see her beg.

He put the gun in his waistband and helped her up. "I'm not going to kill you."

"Do you hate me that much?" She met his gaze, and her eyes were shadowed in a way Laura's had never been. She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I suppose you do."

He didn't answer. All he knew was that he couldn't leave her here. He opened the door, then picked her up and started walking.

"I don't know where the mines are," she said.

Great, he thought, but said nothing.

Irina never would have imagined that one day she would be riding piggy-back on Jack as he navigated their way through a minefield. She leaned her chin on his shoulder, closed her eyes –

-- _and they're in the garden on a Saturday afternoon. Jack sprays the hosepipe in her direction, she throws a glove at him. They smile. She hops on his back and they head to the bedroom_ --

"What day is it?" she asked.

"June 16."

"June?" There was a strangled sound at the back of her throat. "Seven months. Please stop."

He did. She slid off his back, knelt on the ground, and vomited up bile, since her stomach was empty. A moment later, she felt his hand on her shoulder. Her first reaction was to flinch, and she hated herself for the weakness it showed. To his credit, Jack said nothing. When she finally stood up, he was looking back in the direction they had come from.

"Are we out of the minefield yet?"

"I don't know."

He turned for her to get on his back again. Once she was comfortable, he resumed walking.

"You're not afraid you'll step on one?"

"If I do, it won't matter to either of us."

They continued in silence for a while longer, then she said, "If you thought I was dead, you couldn't have been there for me."

"No."

That one word hurt more than she'd expected it to. All those months of hoping and praying and wishing for the impossible . . .

Yet, here Jack was, with her, and they were walking away from the prison.

"I'm sorry," she said.

They fell into silence again. Even if they died tonight, at least she'd apologized.

She woke up to an explosion, and had to quickly grab for a better hold before she slipped from Jack's back.

"Jack?"

"I thought I'd create a diversion. Let them think we didn't make it."

She didn't realize how tight her grasp was until Jack said, "Irina, I can't breathe."

"Sorry." She eased her grip. "Are you okay? I can walk, I think."

He waited a moment before answering. "I'm fine." Another moment. "You hardly weigh a thing."

She said nothing. Then, "You've lost weight, too."

"Yeah." He sighed, and she expected him to continue, but he didn't.

"What happened to your hand?" It wasn't the first time she'd noticed the bloodied material, but she hadn't dared ask before.

"I killed a guard."

She gasped. Then, her voice soft, "Good." A beat later, "So, assuming we make it out of this alive, what are you going to do with me?"

"I don't know." The words sounded choked.

Irina didn't ask anymore questions. She rested her head on Jack's shoulder again, and dozed.

It seemed as if he'd been walking forever. Every step was a risk, a chance he could step on a mine and blow both of them up. He wondered if the Russians had bought his earlier ruse, and wondered just how they had managed to get this far without a single misstep.

He needed to rest.

"Lau – Irina?"

She mumbled something he couldn't make out.

"I'm stopping for a while."

She slid off his back and he took the opportunity to stretch.

"I'm hurting you," she said.

He just gave her a look that said, _well, yes_. "It's almost morning."

"We should be fine once we cross the border into India."

"It would help if we knew where the border was."

She smiled, then collapsed.

"Irina!" He caught her.

"I don't suppose you have any water?"

He shook his head. Then, a flicker of suspicion flared in his brain. "When was the last time you ate something?"

"Umm." She leaned against him. "That's a very good question."

"Okay. Get on. We're moving again."

"Your back," she protested.

"Irina, now is not the time to argue."

She nodded. When he needed to help her back into position, he realized how quickly her strength was fading, and increased his pace.

He had no idea what he was going to do with her once they reached safety, but he was not going to let her die out here.


	4. Chapter three

Chapter three

"I think we're out of the minefield," Jack said.

Irina didn't respond. He wondered if she was sleeping again, or if she had decided to ignore him. Jack carefully eased her down. She moaned, then fell silent again, and he laid her on the ground. Walking for so many hours was wearing on his energy reserves and despite Irina's condition, he needed to rest.

If he could just get them to a farm or a house, he thought, then he could relax.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. Despite the early hour, the day was already warm. Jack's shirt was sticking to his skin with sweat and he was willing to give just about anything for a drink of water.

He sat on the ground next to Irina and took the opportunity to study her. Now that there was more light, he could see details he'd missed earlier. Her hair was tangled together and looked as if it hadn't been washed in months. He felt a momentary pang of – something he couldn't quite define. Laura had always taken such good care of her hair. Now it looked like a messy bird's nest, impossible to detangle.

_-- he runs his fingers through her hair, enjoying the feel of it against his skin. She laughs, "Some people call that a fetish, you know." --_

He'd known she'd lost weight, but it was entirely another thing to see how sharply her bones stuck out or how hollow her cheeks were. Her wrists were encircled by thick red welts. He could only imagine what she looked like beneath the clothes she wore.

He swore under his breath and forced himself to look away. He didn't want to feel sorry for her. He wanted to hate her. But, faced with the evidence that she, too, had suffered, he couldn't. He could still hear her scream in his head, and he was glad he'd shot those guards.

He'd thought, once, if it ever came down to it, he'd kill for Laura. There was nothing he wouldn't have done to protect her or Sydney. Instead, he'd killed for Irina. He wondered if it mattered that he hadn't known she was Irina at the time.

Once they made it to a safe place, Jack could make contact and arrange for an extraction. His mission to gather intel had failed, but he would come back with another prize, one he was sure the CIA would appreciate.

He looked at her again, and felt a twinge of something akin to regret.

_-- "Why'd you marry me, Laura?"_

_She smiles. "Why'd you marry me?"_

_"Because you're the most beautiful woman in the world._

_"Oh, I see. I'm the trophy wife, right?" she kisses him so fiercely that he has to pull away to breathe. She smirks. "Does that answer your question?"--_

She would be better off in CIA custody, he thought. She wouldn't suffer this kind of torture—

She opened her eyes, blinked in confusion, then smiled when her gaze settled on him.

He felt his resolve weaken.

An hour later, they saw a farmhouse ahead. A woman came out, watching warily as they approached. From her attire, it was obvious she was Muslim.

"Good morning," Jack said. His Urdu was worse than his Russian. The woman stared at him blankly.

Irina slipped off his back, drawing from reserves of strength she didn't know she had, and took a step towards the woman. She felt Jack's hand on her shoulder, steadying her, but didn't let her surprise show.

"Can you help us?" she asked in Kashmiri. "We've been traveling all night."

The woman glanced from Irina to Jack, her suspicion still clearly evident. "Who are you?"

"We're Americans," Irina said, unsure how the people here felt about the Russian presence. "We'd just like some water—"

She swayed on her feet and felt Jack grab her from behind. The woman rushed forward. "What happened to you? Did the Russians do this?"

Irina could only nod.

The woman's lips pressed together in a thin line. Switching to Urdu, she addressed Jack. "Bring her inside."

Jack lifted Irina and followed the woman into the house.

"What are Americans doing in Kashmir?"

"It's a long story," Jack said.

"Everybody wants a piece of Kashmir." The woman's tone carried bitterness. "India, Pakistan, Russia, China. Now the Americans too."

"In all honesty, there is nothing I want more than to get out of Kashmir."

The woman glanced at Jack over her shoulder, then smiled.

Irina was on her haunches next to a bucket of icy water. She dipped the rag in the water and scrubbed at her skin with as much energy as she could muster. She could still feel every touch and wondered if she would ever feel completely clean again.

She reached up to touch her hair and tried to separate it so she could braid it. It was hopeless. Rising to her feet, Irina dried herself and dressed in the clothes the woman had provided. She tied the headscarf at the nape of her neck; at least now no one had to see what a mess it was.

What a mess she was.

When she came out of the wash room, Jack was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He looked up at her, his expression unreadable. Her gaze moved from him to the plates of rice in front of him. She sat down. When Jack passed one of the plates to her she felt so pathetically grateful that tears pricked in her eyes. She hadn't lied to him earlier; she truly did not know when her last meal was. Brushing the tears away before they could fall, she accepted the plate and scooped a handful of rice into her mouth.

The rice was plain and cold, but it was the best thing Irina had ever tasted. Still, she only managed to swallow a few mouthfuls before her stomach protested. She put the plate down and picked up the mug Jack was holding out. She didn't care about how much she was revealing to him in this moment. She drank greedily, the sweet tea sliding with ease down her throat. Then she set the mug down and looked defiantly at Jack, daring him to comment.

To her surprise, all he said was, "I'm going to go wash up. You should rest."

He stood and entered the wash room. Irina waited until the curtain separating the two rooms had fallen back into place before she moved to the thin mattress in the corner. She lay down, her back to the wall, using her arm as a pillow, and slept.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before she woke again to the sound of voices. Jack, the woman, a man she didn't recognize. She kept herself still and listened.

"We can get you across the border," the woman said. "Yusuf crosses often."

"I don't want to endanger you." Despite herself, Irina smiled at Jack's words. Always the hero, she thought, and look what that got him. He wanted to help a woman, and he'd ended up with her.

"You'll be in the back of my pickup truck. You can hide behind the bags of grain," the man – Yusuf – said.

"If you're searched—"

"The guards know me. They never search."

"Okay." Jack sighed. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"I – we don't have any way of paying you—"

The woman cut him off. "There's no need. Allah sees all. He will reward us if he feels we deserve it."

Irina heard movement, and someone approached her and sat down. She was reluctant to open her eyes and feigned sleep. She felt a cool hand brush her temple; thought, _Jack_; and fought to keep her breathing even.

When he left, she waited a moment before she rolled over to face the wall.


	5. Chapter four

Chapter four

It was after sunset the next time Irina awoke. She rolled over and saw the plate of rice and the mug of tea next to the mattress. She was alone in the room. Grateful she didn't have to face Jack – face the look of betrayal he wore – she sat up and picked up the plate. She still couldn't manage more than a few handfuls, but it felt wonderful to have food in her stomach again. She sipped the tea slower this time.

Jack entered. When he saw her sitting up, he stopped.

"Hi," she said, uncomfortable with the long silence.

"How are you feeling?" He didn't look at her.

"A little stronger. Still tired."

He nodded. "Well, you should rest while you can." He turned to leave again.

"Jack!"

He stopped at the door but didn't turn around.

"Aren't we going to talk about, well—"

"There's nothing to talk about." His voice was cold.

"What? Jack, I – how can you say there's nothing to talk about?"

He slowly turned. Her breath caught at his expression; his face was empty, emotionless. He just looked at her.

"Why – Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"

"Because you look like my wife."

She blinked, tears stinging her eyes. "I am your wife."

"My wife is dead." He left.

Irina could only stare after him in shock. She didn't realize she had still held the faint hope that she could explain, that he would forgive her. Now that hope was gone, crushed with four words.

She felt ill and put the mug aside. Was Laura dead? She thought of the last few years with Jack and Sydney, and wondered if it was Irina who had died. Irina, who had been forgotten and cast aside.

Maybe they were both dead and her body was just an empty husk, a shell containing nothing of either of the women she had once been.

Jack's words did what seven months in prison – seven months of torture and rape and praying for some kind of salvation – had not: they killed her.

Yusuf offered Jack a cigarette. Jack took it, but instead of smoking, stared up at the night sky. His thoughts were on Irina. Laura.

Irina.

It was easier tonight, now that he'd had a little time to process everything, to look at her without seeing Laura. She was thinner than his wife had been, and there was a haunted, desperate look in her eyes that had never been in Laura's. A look that touched him more than any words she could have said.

For almost seven months he'd cultivated his hatred, using it to keep from losing his mind in solitary. Now that he was with her again, he knew he could kill her and not one of his colleagues would question him.

He thought of Sydney then. In his mind's eye, he saw Laura holding the infant Sydney in her arms; saw the two of them curled up on the couch, reading a book; saw Sydney watching her parents as they danced around the living room.

Ten years of deceit and lies, and he had not suspected a thing. He had believed every untruth she had told him: _I love you, forever, you're the best thing that ever happened to me._

Love was definitely blind, he thought, and finally raised the cigarette to his lips. He rarely smoked, and the tobacco tasted strange to him. He crushed the cigarette under his heel.

"You should sleep," Yusuf said. "We leave very early tomorrow. Before sunrise."

Jack nodded, though sleep was the last thing he felt like doing. He would rather be out here, away from Irina, where he could try to gather his thoughts and figure out what he was feeling.

He wondered what time it was in Los Angeles, and what Sydney was doing.

_-- "But why do have to go away again?" Sydney sits cross-legged at the foot of her bed._

_"I have to work, sweetheart."_

_"But you just got back."_

_He can't tell her he wasn't working before, can't tell her it's her mother's fault, and when he sees the picture of Laura on Sydney's nightstand, he feels the sudden urge to throw something at it. "I know, sweetheart," he says instead. "But I'll be back soon. I promise."_

_Sydney scowls. "Mommy promised she was coming back too."_

_He has nothing to say to that. --_

Yusuf stood and moved to the door. Jack followed, his thoughts still on his daughter and, inevitably, her mother.

Yusuf hadn't been kidding about the early start. It was still dark when he woke Jack. The woman – Noor – was standing at the door with a bag. Jack got up and glanced across the room at Irina. She was in the same position she'd been in the night before; he wondered if she'd moved at all. He knelt beside her and touched her shoulder.

"Irina, it's time to go."

She didn't wake. Jack shook her shoulder. There was still no reaction.

"Irina."

He rolled her onto her back. She offered no resistance, but still didn't stir. He shook her again, then glanced up. Noor and Yusuf were gone.

"Come on, Irina. We need to get going."

It struck him then, how cool her skin was to his touch. He patted her cheeks to try and rouse her. When she still didn't wake up, he felt the first stirring of panic within his chest. He pressed his fingers to her neck, and was relieved to find her pulse steady, though slow.

He picked her up and carried her out to the pickup. The space Yusuf had created for them was small, but looked comfortable enough. Jack carefully climbed up onto the truck, Irina still in his arms, then settled, his back against the window of the cab, Irina cradled against his chest. Noor passed him the bag.

"There's food and water in here. You'll need it."

Jack smiled. "Thank you. May Allah bless you for what you've done for us."

"Insyallah, we'll meet again one day. Good luck." Noor stepped back to allow Yusuf to cover them with a tarpaulin.

The truck started. Without realizing it, Jack's hold on Irina tightened. Her breath was soft and warm against his neck. Without meaning to, Jack kissed her forehead, then froze in horror. She was still asleep, and he let himself relax.

Now was not the time to be weak.

Still, it was hard to have her in his arms and not think about the way things had been before.


	6. Chapter five

Chapter five

"We're here." Yusuf lifted the tarpaulin, letting the early morning sunshine stream in. Jack blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. He slipped out from under Irina and stretched, his muscles stiff and sore from the bumpy ride.

"Lately there have been quite a few foreigners passing through town," Yusuf said. "Everyone's coming to India these days. You shouldn't run into any trouble."

"Thank you." Jack looked around. Yusuf was right; his appearance got little more than a passing glance.

"Is this where you wanted to be?" Yusuf pointed to a rundown building across the street; to the CIA safe house Jack had asked to be taken. This would probably be the last time it could be used as a safe house, but Jack didn't have the energy to care about that.

Jack lifted Irina out the truck. She still hadn't woken, but he refused to acknowledge the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach as worry. He turned to Yusuf.

"Thank you again."

Yusuf smiled. "It was my pleasure. May Allah go with you."

He climbed back into the truck and drove off. Jack stood in the middle of the street for a moment, Irina in his arms, then quickly headed into the house and out of sight. Once inside, he carried Irina to the bedroom and set her down on the bed. After checking the doors and windows were secure, he returned to her side and sat next to her. Shaking her shoulder, he said, "Okay. You can wake up now."

He looked at her for a while, his uneasiness growing, then went into the bathroom. He pulled back the shower curtain and turned the faucet. At first the spray was lukewarm, but slowly became colder. Jack re-entered the bedroom and stripped Irina. As he removed the last layer of clothing, he froze. Her abdomen held an assortment of bruises in various shades --

_-- his hands skim lightly across her ribcage. She laughs. "Jack, that tickles! --_

-- the skin above her left hipbone still red with a newly-healed scar --

_-- he traces her bone with his finger, then repeats the action with his mouth. His tongue flicks out, teasing her, and she winds her fingers through his hair to keep him close --_

-- bruises on her thighs; long, thin, shaped like fingers --

He fought back his nausea and forced himself to stay calm. He couldn't understand why his cheeks were wet until he tasted salt and realized he was crying. Slowly, he stripped off his clothes, then picked her up and took her into the bathroom. He stepped under the water with her.

His gamble paid off. The shock of the water jolted her from whatever state she'd been in. She gasped and began shivering in his arms. He turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, then discovered there were no towels.

"Jack?"

He went into the bedroom. Holding her against him with one arm, he peeled back the sheets with the other, then helped her lie down.

"Cold."

"Yeah. Sorry." He hesitated only a moment before climbing into bed beside her. He pulled the sheets up and scooted closer to her. "Come here. Let's get you warm again."

As they lay together, skin to skin, sharing body heat, he told himself it wasn't desire that he felt for her.

As her breath fell warm on his neck, he told himself he wasn't relieved she was alive.

Nonetheless, he held her gently, as if she was something fragile and precious. As if she was his wife.

His mouth was hot on her skin, his teeth gently nipping the spot where her shoulder met her neck. She pressed herself closer to him, ignoring the protesting ache of her muscles. His hand slipped between her legs. She gasped, "Jack!"

And then, suddenly, surprisingly, he pushed her away and sprang from the bed. She opened her eyes, still confused. Then, slowly, recognition came. Extraction, Kashmir . . . escape. She pulled the sheet up to cover herself and rolled over so she wouldn't have to see the look of disgust on Jack's face.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, and squeezed her eyes shut to stem the sudden tears. "I'm sorry. I fell asleep. It was – I don't know. Habit. I'm so used to waking up next to you. Laura. I mean—"

He pulled his hand away and she instantly missed the connection. She wanted to tell him she understood, that she had forgotten too, but instead said, "Why am I naked?"

"Uh, you wouldn't wake up. I put you in the shower hoping the cold water would help."

She heard movement and assumed he was getting dressed. "Where are we?"

"A safe house."

Her hands fisted around the sheet. If they were at a safe house, that meant Jack had contacted the CIA. She didn't want to think about what the CIA would do to her; she was so tired of being in prison.

"Are you hungry?" Jack asked.

"No."

"You should eat something."

"I said I wasn't hungry."

There was amusement in Jack's voice when he replied, "Now you sound like Sydney."

Irina immediately felt the familiar pain lance through her chest. She curled into a fetal position and drew in a deep breath. Jack grabbed her shoulder again, this time rough, and pulled her onto her back. The amusement was gone from his voice.

"You do remember Sydney, don't you?"

Her eyes flew open. From somewhere, she found the strength to retaliate and lunged at him. He grabbed her wrists, forcing her back down, then straddled her, pinning her to the bed.

"How could you do that to her? How could you leave your child?"

"I had no choice." Her wrists burned under Jack's tight grip but she wasn't strong enough to break free.

"What kind of mother are you?" His eyes were almost black with rage, with hate, and Irina couldn't find the voice to reply. She was back in that cell, months earlier, lying helpless as her own body turned against her, killing her child.

-- _she holds the infant Sydney in her arms, surprised at how completely she loves her already --_

"How could you just leave her?" Jack broke into her thoughts.

"Please." The word was barely a whisper, but took all her remaining strength.

"I should kill you for what you did to her." His hands moved to her neck. She didn't fight him, but kept her eyes on his. The pressure on her neck lightened, but he kept his hands in place. "Fuck."

"I'm sorry," she said. _Sorry you can't kill me. Sorry I left. Sorry I hurt you._

"Why?"

"I had to."

He climbed off her, swearing again under his breath. Then he pulled a pair of handcuffs from a drawer.

"Jack—"

"I'm going out to get some food. I don't trust you not to leave."

She didn't have the strength to stand, let alone run away, but she didn't argue. She closed her eyes and held out her hand.

"Maybe you should get dressed first."

She opened her eyes to see Jack holding out a T-shirt and pair of sweat pants. When it was clear she was struggling to put them on, he helped her, his touch once again gentle.

Still, when she heard the familiar click of the handcuffs on her wrist, she couldn't help flinching. Jack cuffed the other end of the handcuffs to the bed post.

"I'll try not to be long," he said.

When he was gone, she let herself cry.


	7. Chapter six

Chapter six

Time away from Irina had done nothing to clear his head. Jack returned to the safe house, his mood worse than it had been when he left. He thought about how easy it would have been to kill her earlier; she was so weak, her neck so fragile.

He knew he couldn't. Whatever she had done, she was still the mother of his child. He didn't think he would be able to look at Sydney if he killed Irina.

She was asleep when he entered the room. Lying on her back, one arm stretched above her head, he could have mistaken her for Laura if it wasn't for the handcuffs.

He set the food on the nightstand and went to the kitchen to look for plates. When he got back to the bedroom, Irina was moaning, tugging at her restraints. Jack unlocked the handcuffs, horrified to see that her wrist was bleeding.

He shouldn't have cuffed her, he thought. Her wrists had already been injured; he'd made it worse. He went in search of a first aid kit – standard for every safe house. It was in the bathroom. He took the whole box back to the bedroom.

He dabbed gently at Irina's wrist with a piece of cotton wool soaked in antiseptic. Her eyes flew open and she tried to jerk her hand away. Jack said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on her hand and not her face. It suddenly struck him how their roles had reversed; he'd lost count of the times he'd returned from a mission to have Irina care for him.

Laura, he reminded himself. His wife was Laura, not Irina.

He wrapped a bandage around her wrist, then reached for the other, repeating the action.

"Thank you," Irina said.

"You should see a doctor soon."

"What about your hand?" She sat up, then unwrapped the piece of cloth he'd used. He couldn't speak, couldn't move – her expression, her tone was completely Laura. "It's not deep enough for stitches but—"

"Don't," he managed to say, and pulled his hand away. He dabbed antiseptic on the cut then covered it with a bandage. He looked up to find Irina's gaze on him. "Are you hungry?"

She nodded. He quickly packed up the first aid kit, then handed Irina a plate. From one of the paper bags he'd brought in earlier, he pulled out a polystyrene box.

"There's rice, and some chapatti. I tried not to get anything spicy for you."

She smiled again, and to his surprise he found himself smiling back. Uncomfortable, and unsure why, he opened his own carton of food.

"What were you dreaming about?"

She shook her head. "I don't remember."

He didn't call her on the lie, remembering the guard who had passed him outside her cell, remembering the words of the other two guards he'd killed. He didn't want to know how she had suffered.

They ate in silence. Jack was pleased to see her appetite had improved, though only a little. When they were both finished, he picked up the other bag he'd brought. From it he took two toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste.

"Careful, Jack. People might start thinking you don't hate me after all."

"I don't hate you." The words were out before he could stop them. He was surprised to realize it was true; he didn't hate her, he hated the situation. "How could you do it? How could you live a lie for more than a decade?"

She didn't speak immediately. When she did, her voice was so low Jack struggled to hear her. "Do you know when I became a communist, Jack? I was seven. Sydney's age. That's when Soviet children begin their education."

When he tried to interrupt, she held up her hand. "No, let me finish. All my life, all I was taught was how to be loyal to the Soviet Union. We learned all about the evil West, how the wealthy left the poor to starve, how you used your armies to control your people. When I was approached by the KGB, I was flattered that I'd been considered worthy to serve my country." She took a deep breath. "I was prepared to hate you, to hate my time with you. I wasn't prepared to fall in love."

His expression darkened. "Love?"

"You asked how I could live a lie. I couldn't."

"You could have told me."

She shook her head. "You were supposed to believe I – Laura died. You were never supposed to know the truth."

"They thought I was working with you. I spent six months in solitary."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

He didn't want her sympathy. "What were you doing in prison, Irina? Shouldn't you have got a promotion instead?"

"They don't promote traitors, Jack." She scooted to the edge of the bed and picked up one of the toothbrushes. Slowly getting to her feet, she went to the bathroom. Jack was too stunned by her reply to say anything.

Irina shut the bathroom door, then sat on the toilet, surprised at how much energy she'd burned getting here from the bedroom. She hated feeling so weak, especially in front of Jack.

But, she thought, rather this than another minute in that hellhole.

She squeezed a little toothpaste onto the toothbrush, and began cleaning her teeth. When she was finished, she stood and spat in the sink. She rinsed her mouth, then repeated the whole process. It had been far too long since she'd last been able to brush her teeth.

Once she was finally satisfied that her teeth were clean enough, she studied her reflection in the mirror. It was still a stranger who looked back at her.

"Jack? Do you have a pair of scissors?" she called.

A moment later the bathroom door opened. "Why do you want scissors?"

She touched her hair. Jack disappeared, returning a few minutes later with a pair of scissors.

"Sit," he said.

Irina did as she was told. Jack hesitated before bringing the scissors to her hair. He began trimming the bottom. "Cut it all off, Jack," she said.

"Are you sure?"

_-- hands fisting in her hair, pulling, twisting --_

"All of it."

She felt the blades touch her scalp, and closed her eyes.


	8. Chapter seven

Chapter seven

She looked like a concentration camp survivor, Jack thought, especially now that her hair was gone. Her eyes seemed even bigger in her face, and a fading bruise on her cheekbone stood out on skin so pale it seemed almost translucent. Yet despite her appearance, despite the situation they were in, he could see traces of the woman he had loved.

Irina sat cross-legged on the bed, picking at the leftover chapatti from earlier. When she caught him watching her, she pushed the food aside and folded her hands in her lap.

"What?"

"You broke my heart."

She said nothing but he could see the tears she was fighting to keep from shedding. He moved from the chair to the edge of the bed. Not stopping to examine his motives, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She gasped softly, obviously surprised, but didn't move away.

He deepened the kiss, and it was suddenly so easy to forget that they'd been apart for seven months.

It didn't take him long to realize she wasn't responding. He pulled back and looked at her. She held herself completely rigid, her eyes were closed, and the tears she had tried to fight earlier were running down her cheeks.

He felt like an idiot. Her assignment was over; of course she didn't want him anymore. He was a fool. Worse, a weak fool. A few days in her presence and he wanted her again. Angry with himself, he stood and walked across to the other side of the room.

"Jack, I—"

"When are you going to ask about Sydney?" He couldn't look at her.

"Jack—"

"You broke her heart too." Pain made him bitter. He wanted to hurt her too. "It must have been so difficult for you pretending to be a good mother."

The lamp from the bedside table crashed into the wall, barely missing his head. He turned to see Irina kneeling on the bed, her face ashen.

"Thinking of Sydney was the only thing that kept me sane. Don't ever question my love for her again."

"You didn't love her enough to take her with you." He managed to sidestep the plate of food that came flying at him.

"I'm sure Sydney would have enjoyed Kashmir." She shook her head. "Don't be an idiot, Jack."

"Is she even mine?" He caught the pillow she threw, and lobbed it back at her. It hit the side of her head, knocking her off balance. She fell back onto the bed. Jack climbed on top of her, pinning her in place with his weight. "Is she?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer."

Jack leaned down until his mouth was level with her ear. His voice was low, his words clipped when he spoke again. "I know all about you, Derevko. They took great pleasure in telling me what you were up to during our marriage."

She squirmed, trying to break free, but he pushed down harder. "Those agents were my friends."

"I was following orders."

"Convenient."

"I did what I had to do to protect my family."

"Don't you dare make this about me and Sydney!"

There was a low guttural sound from her throat. "You think you're the only one who has suffered in all of this?"

"Don't even think about playing the victim, Irina. You chose this path." He laughed, but there was no warmth in it. "I bet you made your family proud."

She said nothing for a while, then, "Get off me. Please."

"You whored yourself out for ten years. What's once more, for old time's sake?"

She tensed beneath him, then relaxed, and he was surprised how easily she had surrendered.

Then she said, "Go ahead, Jack. Rape me. Show me what a man you are."

He recoiled as if she'd struck a physical blow. She closed her eyes, unable to look at him, and tried to keep her breathing calm. She tried counting to ten. When that didn't work she pictured Sydney's smiling face in front of her, but that only made things even worse. The tears she'd been fighting so hard spilled down her cheeks.

"Irina—"

"There's nothing I can do or say to make you understand." She was proud she didn't stumble over the words. "I'm sorry I fucked everything up, but – but I'd do it all over again, because of you, because of Sydney, because for a moment I was happy."

Jack's fingers brushed lightly over her bruised cheekbone. "Tell me why you were in prison."

"I already did."

"Treason." His tone betrayed his disbelief.

Irina felt the ghost of their child stir within her womb. Unconsciously, she covered her stomach with her hand as she thought of the children she'd refused to kill for her country. They'd allowed her to keep Sydney. Nadia – the name she'd chosen long before they discovered her pregnancy – had not been so lucky. Nadia, named for the grandmother who had died while Irina was in America. Nadia, her only remaining hope, dead, like the woman Irina had once been.

"Irina?"

She knew she could never tell Jack. This burden would be hers alone. So she chose another truth, a sliver of thought never given voice until now. "They suspected that I had considered defecting."

"Had you?"

"Sometimes I thought about what would happen if I did. It doesn't matter now."

Jack climbed off her and lay down next to her. She looked at him, curious. "I can't just forget what you did."

"I know," she whispered.

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "But I can't just stop loving you either."

"Don't say what you don't mean, Jack."

"I've thought about you every day since you left."

"Tell me about Sydney." It hurt to say her name aloud, but Irina needed to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"She's getting so tall. She's . . . I don't know. They kept me away from her for six months. She's sad. She misses you."

"And her play? Thanksgiving – did she get in?"

Jack's smile was forced. "I was told she was a turkey."

"A turkey?"

In a move that surprised both of them, Jack pulled Irina closer and held her against his chest. "I don't know what to do," he confessed.

"You're a good father, Jack. Sydney loves you. You love her. That's all that matters, really."

"I meant, I don't know what to do about you."

Irina could feel his heartbeat beneath the palm of her hand. There were countless nights they'd lain like this, talking until the early hours of the morning. She pushed the memory aside. "Well, I'll be in prison again, won't I?"

"It's not the same as that facility in Kashmir."

"Don't think that the Soviets are monsters, Jack. They don't torture all their prisoners."

His hold tightened slightly. "So why you?"

"To make an example of me. My mission failed. They wanted to punish me." She took a deep, steadying breath, this time relying on the steady feel of Jack's heartbeat to keep control. "Cuvee was always jealous of my love for you. He wanted to break me."

"Cuvee. That's the second time I've heard that name. Who is he?"

"My superior at the KGB." She couldn't hide the tremor in her voice. Some part of her mind cautioned her against going further.

"What did he—"

"Don't ask, Jack. Please." She remembered a time when she had enjoyed Cuvee's attention, a time before she realized there was more to life than patriotism and ideals. When she'd entered Jack's bed, she'd stopped letting Cuvee into hers. In Kashmir, it seemed as if he wanted to make up for all the lost time.

No, she thought, don't go there. It's over. Don't go there.

"Irina, you're shaking."

She willed herself to concentrate on the feel of Jack's arms around her, the smell of skin, the sound of his heartbeat; willed herself to focus on the taste of kiss his, the memory of his words, _"I can't just stop loving you."_

It wasn't enough.


	9. Chapter eight

Chapter eight

"Irina, you're shaking."

He pulled her closer to him, one hand pressed against her back, the other cradling her head. She buried her face in his neck, her tears wetting his skin. A moment later she slipped her arm around his back and returned the embrace.

How often had they held each other like this, he wondered. Too often to count. Having her in his arms felt so right. He felt that everything would be okay again if he could just keep her in his arms.

He knew this woman, the way she fit against him, the curve of her smile, the texture of her skin. He knew how to make her laugh, knew the tells of her anger or her pain.

He _knew_ her.

But at the same time, he knew nothing about her.

"Tell me about your family," he said.

She pulled back slightly so she could look at him. Her eyes were still wet and Jack gave in to the urge to brush a lingering tear away with his thumb. "Why?"

"I'm curious." His thumb was still at her face, now gently traveling the length of her jaw. He'd forgotten how soft her skin was.

"Then I need you to promise me that none of this will go into your report."

His hand stilled. "They're agents?"

"My sisters are. My parents . . ." She exhaled, and a sad smile graced her lips. "My parents were actors. They don't belong to the Party. They didn't want their children to join the KGB, but they didn't prevent us from doing so. We were the pride of the KGB – the Derevko siblings – but I know we broke our parents' hearts."

"Are your parents still alive?"

Her mouth twisted downwards. "I don't know."

"Why did you join the KGB?"

"I never intended to. I wanted to be an actress. Despite my teachers' efforts to turn me into a good little communist, I was enough of my mother's daughter to want to follow in her footsteps." Her eyes took on a faraway expression, and Jack wondered about the girl she had been before. She continued, "I was sixteen when I caught the attention of the KGB. I was playing Nora in _A Doll's House_ and my eldest sister brought her . . . lover, I think. I never knew for sure. A few weeks after that I was approached by an agent who suggested I consider applying for the Academy."

Jack was silent for a while, then said, "I'm sure you were a great Nora."

Irina smiled then, a full smile. Jack couldn't help but smile back. "I found out later why they needed my acting skills."

"Me." His smile dimmed.

"Yes." She caressed his cheek, mimicking his earlier movements. "I don't regret meeting you, Jack. I know we can't go back to the way things were before, but I need you to know that I—"

He covered her mouth with his, cutting off the words he knew she would say. He didn't want to hear them. It would only make what he had to do that much harder.

Surprisingly, this time she responded to the kiss, though hesitantly. When he pulled away, there was a flush to her cheeks and her breathing was slightly erratic, mirroring his own reactions.

"Would you visit me in prison, Jack?" She glanced away. "Don't answer that. I don't think I want to hear either possible answer."

He thought about her question, thought about everything that had brought them to this point, thought about prayers to a God he didn't believe in that if he could see her just once more . . .

He knew then that he wouldn't have the strength to stay away.

He kissed her again.

"Jack, I – Please."

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know. That's not it." She bit her lip and rolled onto her back, breaking the contact between them. "It's – I don't know how to say this."

"What?"

"In Kashmir. There – I – I probably need a medical check up." The words were clipped, and her body was tense.

"Of course. You were tortured."

"Not that. The other." She turned, facing away from him, and he felt like an idiot. He'd guessed she had been raped, but he hadn't really thought about it until now. He remembered the guard who had walked by him, zipping up his pants, and wished he'd killed him. He wanted to kill each of the men who had hurt his wife, starting with Cuvee.

He wondered when he'd started thinking of Irina as his wife.

"Come here," he said.

"I don't want your pity."

"This isn't about pity."

After a while, she turned back to him. He couldn't read her expression. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." He waited until she had settled in his arms again, then said, "Tell me more about your sisters."

"No."

"I'm not asking as an agent."

"You know all you need to know."

He stifled his sigh of irritation. "How many of you are there?"

She didn't answer immediately. "Three."

"So where do you fit in?"

"I'm number three."

"Would your sisters help you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would they help you now? Would they get you someplace safe?"

Irina jerked away from him, shoving his chest as she did. "I am not helping you set a trap for my sisters!"

He couldn't help the laughter that spilled from his lips at her reaction. "That's not the reason I asked."

"Why then?"

"I think you've been punished more than enough."

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, Jack?"

"I'm saying that I'm not taking you back with me."

She looked at him for a long time. "Why?"

"I don't know." By now both of them were sitting up.

"What will you tell the CIA?"

"They don't know you're with me. I haven't contacted them yet."

"You're letting me go?"

He nodded, still not entirely sure why he was doing this, but knowing that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't. "Is there a way you can get in touch with your sisters?"

She rattled off a sequence of numbers that Jack committed to memory. "Make sure it's Katya you're speaking to. Tell her Rishka needs her, and that we'll meet her on the beach."

"The beach? We're in northern India."

Irina shook her head. "She'll know what you're talking about."

Jack stood up to leave, hoping he wouldn't end up regretting this.

"Jack, if Katya gets hurt in all of this, I'll kill you myself."

"I don't doubt that," he muttered on his way out.


	10. Chapter nine

Chapter nine

"What?"

Startled, Jack instinctively pulled the receiver slightly away from his ear. The woman had answered didn't sound all that friendly.

"Is this Katya?"

"Who is this?" Her tone was less gruff now, more wary.

"I have a message for Katya." Jack paused. "From Rishka."

The woman hung up.

Jack stared at the phone for a few seconds, hardly hearing the dial tone. He sighed, then punched in the numbers again.

"Who the hell are you?" the woman asked.

"I –" He bit his lower lip, thinking. "Just a messenger."

"Just a messenger?" There was silence from the other end of the line, then, "Don't call again."

"Wait. Rishka says to meet on the beach."

"Who are you?"

"Someone who wants to help."

Another silence. "Prove that I can trust you, then. Tell me where you are."

"How do I know that I can trust you?"

She laughed. "You're the one who called me."

Jack thought of the alternative – taking Irina back with him. He sighed, then started talking.

Irina leaned against the wall of the shower and slowly soaped her body. Her fingers brushed across her rib cage, and she felt the bones protrude. The soap clattered to the floor. She'd lost so much weight; how was it possible she had survived?

Her hand dipped lower, coming to rest on her stomach. She closed her eyes. It occurred to her that losing Nadia was her punishment for betraying Jack and Sydney. Though she tried to shake the thought away, it stuck in her mind.

Sydney, so beautiful and smart and perfect, who at the age of four solemnly announced that when she was big she was going to be a teacher "just like Mama". Irina thought of afternoons at the park, watching Sydney go around and around and around on the carousel. She remembered nights curled up on the couch, reading _Alice in Wonderland_.

And she'd left. She'd walked away from her child. No wonder Nadia had died; Irina didn't deserve to be a mother.

She didn't deserve this second chance Jack was giving her.

She stood under the water, letting it rinse the soap off her, then stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her. The scissors Jack had used to cut her hair were still on the counter. Irina ran her finger along the blade; it wasn't that sharp, but she knew how to cut.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Who was this broken, damaged woman staring back at her? Bruised, scarred, empty. She flung the scissors at her image, then flinched as the glass shattered. She picked up one of the bigger shards; it was sharper than the scissors.

_-- Jack dances with her on the beach, the waves playing around their feet, the sun setting on the horizon. She thinks, how is it possible I can be this happy?--_

A tear trickled down her cheek as she pressed the edge of the glass to her wrist.

_-- "Mommy, how come you and Daddy kiss all the time?" Sydney has a look on her face that Irina recognizes; Sydney is not sure she's going to like the answer, but she wants to know anyway._

_"Because I love Daddy."_

_"But kissing's gross."_

_She laughs. "Not when it's between me and Daddy."_

_Sydney doesn't look convinced. –_

"Irina? I'm back."

Jack's voice pulled her from her thoughts. She dropped the piece of glass and stepped away from the mirror.

"Where are you?" Jack continued.

She didn't answer. Staring numbly at the broken mirror, all she could think was: what is wrong with me?

"Irina?" Jack knocked on the bathroom door. "Is everything okay?"

At her silence, he tried the handle. Too late, she realized she'd forgotten to lock it. She pulled the towel tighter around her body and slowly raised her head to look at him.

His attention was focused on the mirror, his expression unreadable. He turned to look at her then held out his hand. "You're going to get sick if you stay like that."

She nodded and carefully stepped towards him, avoiding the mess on the floor.

"I spoke to Katya," he said. "The plan's changed slightly."

She said nothing.

"We'll meet her tomorrow night. She's coming to India." He touched her cheek, something he'd done often with Laura, and Irina felt what was left of her heart shatter further. "So, why does she call you Rishka?"

"It's a pet name."

"I like it." Jack was still touching her. "Can I call you Rishka?"

For a moment, she leaned into his touch, then pulled away. "Don't do this, Jack. Please."

"Do what?"

"Don't pretend that this – that we get a happy ending. We both know better than that."

She felt Jack's gaze on her though she refused to look at him. When he turned around and left the room, she told herself she was glad.


	11. Chapter ten

Chapter ten

It was the longest Irina and Jack had gone without talking to each other while being in the same house. After her statement that there would be no happy ending for them, he had walked out of the bedroom, keeping himself occupied in another part of the safe house until long after Irina had fallen asleep. She woke sometime during the night, surprised to see him curled up next to her, but instead of giving in to her desire to move closer to him, she rolled over and went back to sleep. He was already up by the time she woke again, so she said nothing about it.

Over breakfast, he had spoken only to relay the details of the meeting with Katya. Irina spent the day sleeping, showering every time she woke up. Jack had cleared the mess in the bathroom at some point, but she didn't comment. The sooner this day was over - the sooner she was with her sister, the sooner she and Jack could move on with their lives - the better for everyone.

The sun had just started to sink on the horizon when they set out for the market. Irina looked up at the sky, painted pink and red, and couldn't help but recall the last time she'd taken a moment to truly appreciate the sunset.

--_ "I wish the sky was always this colour," Sydney says. "It's pretty."_

_"Not as pretty as you are." Jack scoops Sydney up into his arms and peppers her face with kisses._

_"What about Mommy?"_

_"Mommy too." He smiles at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Later, when Sydney's in bed, he tells her there's nothing in the world more beautiful than she is. –_

Irina dragged her thoughts back to the present. She could never recapture what she'd lost – what she had destroyed – and it was useless to think otherwise.

"We always wanted to come to India."

She glanced at Jack, who had adopted the guise of a tourist come to seek whatever India had to offer, like so many people these days. Irina was sure she looked as ridiculous as he did; he'd procured a wig from somewhere and Irina wondered if this was the ultimate insult: a blonde, hippie traveler.

Still, she thought, it was better than the alternative, and she and Jack did blend in with the other foreigners.

Jack smiled. "You said you wanted to try real Indian food, not the crap they serve back home."

Home.

She looked away, doing her best to keep a neutral expression on her face.

"Do you see her anywhere?" Jack's voice was subdued.

Irina shook her head. They turned a corner and began walking down a new aisle. Irina stretched out her hand to feel the fabrics as they passed each stall.

"Are you okay?" Jack asked. "Not too tired?"

"I'm not an invalid," she snapped.

Jack caught her elbow, forcing her to stop. "You're looking very pale."

"I'm fine."

He studied her for a moment, then released her arm. "Okay."

When they turned into another row of stalls, she hooked her arm though his. Furious that he'd been right, all she said was, "Can we walk a little slower?"

"Sure."

She heard nothing but concern in his tone, and forced herself to meet his gaze. The softness of his expression was one she was painfully familiar with; one she thought she'd never see again.

"Jack." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Do you want to stop for a minute?"

"No."

They kept walking, slower this time, and Irina held onto Jack just a little tighter, telling herself that this was their last time together.

There was still so much left unsaid.

"Jack, tell Sydney I – Tell her I love her." She didn't mean for it to come out as a question, but she knew Jack owed her nothing. _I love you_, she wanted to add, but couldn't. He deserved more than she could give him.

He had always been too good for her.

"Every day," Jack said.

"Thank you." The words were inadequate, but they were all she could offer.

By the time they had walked through the market twice, Irina was ready to drop from exhaustion. She leaned into Jack. "She's not coming."

"She said she'd be here."

"Maybe she didn't believe you."

Jack fingered a strand of Irina's blonde hair, one corner of his mouth twisting downwards. "We can wait."

"She's not coming." Irina gave a half-hearted smile. "Thanks for trying, Jack. You'll never know what it means to me that you were willing to let me go."

They returned to the safe house in silence. Irina gratefully pulled off the wig and headed for the bathroom.

"You're showering again?"

He couldn't understand, she thought. She could still feel the guards' hands on her skin, could still feel Cuvee's breath at the back of her neck.

"Irina, I'm sorry she didn't come."

Irina turned around. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. Is there someone else we can try?"

"No. There's no one. I'll go back with you, Jack. I'll defect, tell them everything I know—"

"They'll kill you. Or they'll put you in jail for the rest of your life, and neither of those is an option."

"It doesn't matter anymore. It just – it doesn't matter."

"So that's it? You're just going to give up?"

She walked up to him and took his hands in hers. "Let me go, Jack. Sydney needs you."

"She needs you, too."

Irina shook her head. "She always loved you best."

"That is not true!"

"Jack, please." She kissed him; a brief, chaste brushing of her lips against his, then released his hands.

In that moment, the lights went out. Irina froze; time in solitary had left her with an unhealthy fear of complete darkness. She heard a brief scuffle, then a familiar voice said, "I've been waiting a long time to do this."


	12. Chapter eleven

Chapter eleven

"I've been waiting a long time to do this."

Before Jack could react, he felt something cool at his throat. A second later, the knife's blade pricked at his skin. Now was not the time to fight back. He would be no good to Irina if he was killed before he could get them out of this situation.

Then Irina said, "Katya?"

The pressure of the knife didn't waver, but Katya's voice was noticeably gentler when she spoke again. "Rishka."

Irina laughed, and Jack suddenly realized how much he'd missed the sound. Laura had laughed often.

"Why did you turn the lights off? You always did like to make an entrance." Irina spoke in Russian now, and Jack had to concentrate harder to follow the conversation.

"You said you'd meet us at the market." He stumbled over the unfamiliar words, tempted to switch back to English.

"I don't trust you." Katya's breath was warm against his neck, but her next words chilled his blood. "I'm going to kill you for what you've done."

"What? What did I do?"

"Katya, please!" Irina sounded panicked. He wanted to tell her to run, to get away while she could, but Katya spoke again.

"This is for Sasha."

"Katya, no!"

"Who's Sasha?"

Katya grabbed a clump of his hair, pulling his head back and baring his throat. "Loving you made my sister too weak to do what needed to be done."

"Katya, it won't bring him back."

"Who?" Jack asked.

"Sasha Derevko. Twenty-two years old. Shot to death, August 17, 1977. London."

Jack remembered that mission, a kill-or-be-killed situation. He also remembered the weeks following it: his wife's silences, fights for no reason, her need to be held in bed. At the time he'd hoped she was pregnant again; never had he imagined this to be the reason for her strange behaviour.

"Your brother?" Jack guessed. "I didn't know."

"What difference would it have made to you?" Katya's grasp tightened, pulling painfully at his hair. "He was your enemy. You are mine."

"Katya . . ." Jack could barely make out Irina's figure in the dark. In that moment he knew without a doubt that she had loved him – still loved him. He'd killed her brother and she'd lived as his wife for four more years.

Katya released him and shoved him forward, the suddenness of the movement causing him to land on his knees. "Don't worry, Bristow. You won't die today. I won't lose another sibling because of you."

Jack looked up at Irina. "I—"

"There's nothing to say, Jack."

"We need to leave." It sounded as if Katya had moved to the door.

Jack wanted to tell them to wait; this wasn't how he had planned to say goodbye to Irina. He said nothing. To his surprise, Irina knelt beside him.

"Thank you." Her fingers brushed the side of his face, the movement so fleeting he was sure he'd imagined it. "Take care of Sydney."

He nodded.

He remained on the floor until long after they had left, then crawled onto the bed, lying facedown in the spot Irina had occupied. He pressed his face into the pillow and grieved the second loss of his wife.


	13. Chapter twelve

Chapter twelve

Irina tied the belt of her bathrobe as she stepped out of the bathroom. Katya sat cross-legged on the bed, boxes of takeout food spread in front of her. She looked up and smiled, then held open her arms.

"Rishka."

Irina crawled onto the bed, pushing the food to one side, and hugged her sister. She didn't know how long they sat like that; it had been too many years since she'd seen Katya and there was so much she wanted to tell her. But the words wouldn't come, so she just clung to her sister.

"The food is getting cold."

"I'm not hungry." She could smell the spices used to cook, and it made her stomach turn. Jack had given her mostly bland food, and for the first time she'd wondered how he'd known to do that.

She told herself, again, to stop thinking about Jack.

Katya pulled back, holding her at arms' length as she studied her. "You look terrible."

"And you, you're more beautiful than ever." Irina touched Katya's face, then fingered her hair before letting her hands fall to her lap. She felt Katya gently brush her fingers across her scalp.

"Why did they take your hair?"

She shook her head. "They didn't. Jack—"

"Bastard."

"I asked Jack to cut it." She looked away. This was something she couldn't even tell Katya. "It's just hair. It'll grow back eventually."

When Katya spoke again, her voice was bitter. "They told us you were going through extensive debriefs. Seven months – I should have known something was wrong."

"It's over now." Even as she said the words, images sprang to mind: Cuvee's smiling face, hands squeezing her wrists, a bloody sheet . . . She blinked back tears and repeated, "It's over."

"I've made arrangements for you to get out of India," Katya said, speaking gentler than Irina had ever heard her. "I can't come with you. They'll be suspicious if I suddenly disappear."

Irina nodded. "I understand. It was risky of you to even come here—"

"I'll come see you as soon as I can."

Irina looked up, surprised.

"We've got so much to catch up on." Katya smiled briefly, then turned serious again. "Our cousin Andrei left the USSR a few years ago. He has a wine farm in South Africa now. You'll be safe there."

"Thank you."

Katya smiled again, then began clearing up the uneaten food. "You should rest. You've got a long trip ahead of you."

"How are Mama and Papa?"

"Would you believe that little theatre is still going? A new play every few months. I go whenever I can—"

"Katya."

Katya dumped the food in the wastepaper bin and sat on the edge of the bed. "Papa has cancer, Irina. It's – The doctor says he has weeks left."

"Cancer?" Irina looked around the hotel room, seeing nothing. She remembered the last time she'd spoken to her father, three days before she left for her assignment in America.

--_ "It's not too late to back out," he says. Irina smiles and hooks her arm through his._

_"I don't want to back out, Papa."_

_He looks down at her; though his face is expressionless, his eyes reveal his thoughts. "Be careful, Irishka."_

_"I will be, Papa."_

_"I love you."—_

She couldn't remember if she had told him she loved him too. She slipped off the bed. "I have to go to him."

Katya grabbed her shoulders. "Think, Irina. If you set foot back in Moscow they'll just take you straight back to Kashmir."

"But Papa—"

"He would want you to be safe."

"You'll be with him?"

Katya nodded.

"Tell him – tell him . . ."

"He knows, Rishka. He knows."

Irina sank to the floor, all her strength gone. She started speaking – words she never thought she'd say, secrets she'd intended to carry to the grave spilled past her lips. She spoke of Sydney and Jack, and unexpected happiness. She spoke of Kashmir in only the vaguest of details, and of a little girl who'd been born too soon. At the end of it, Katya was on the floor next to her, cradling her like a child, her tears wetting Irina's neck.

Irina fell asleep in her sister's arms, imagining they were girls again and that the shadow of the KGB had not yet touched their lives.


	14. Chapter thirteen

Chapter thirteen

_Los Angeles_

Jack paid the taxi driver, then walked up to the front door of his house. It was almost midnight, and only the porch light was on. Though he had hoped to get home earlier, the CIA had insisted on dragging his debrief on for eight hours. He hadn't lied about the last few days: he'd been captured but managed to escape, and made his way across the border into India with the help of some locals. He'd mentioned nothing about Irina, though she was never far from his thoughts.

Finally, tired of all the questions, he'd said, "I'd like to see my daughter now."

It was clear from the expressions on his colleagues' faces that they weren't entirely happy with his report, and he wondered if they still thought of him as a traitor. It didn't matter, he decided, as he left CIA headquarters. Nothing mattered except Sydney.

Now that he was finally home, he stood at the foot of the stairs and couldn't help but think of previous homecomings. His wife would be waiting in their bedroom, the intensity of her welcome differing depending on how long he'd been away. He wondered where she was now.

Slowly climbing the stairs, he thought of Katya's revelation, and he felt ill. Her brother. He'd killed her brother.

Though he'd learned to compartmentalize, he knew Sasha's death would never leave him. It didn't matter that he hadn't known at the time. It didn't matter that it was in defense of his own life. He'd hurt his wife, and seeing Irina in pain was something he'd never been able to bear.

He opened Sydney's door. Moonlight spilled into the room from a gap in the curtains, and he was filled with a sudden wave of love.

--_ He holds the baby awkwardly, afraid to drop her. He's never seen something so fragile or so perfect in all his life._

_Laura laughs. "She's not going to break, Jack."_—

He loved Sydney in her own right, of course, but he loved her all the more for the traces of her mother she bore. During his six months in prison, he'd sometimes wondered how he could ever be able to look at Sydney again without seeing the woman who had betrayed them both. Knowing what he knew now, he was glad of the resemblance.

He wondered if that made him masochistic, and decided it didn't matter.

Sydney stirred in her sleep. Jack crossed to the bed, intending to just give her a kiss goodnight. But as his lips brushed her forehead, she woke up.

"Daddy?"

"Shh, go back to sleep."

She threw her arms around his neck. "You came back."

"Of course I did, sweetheart."

"I don't want you to go away again, Daddy."

Jack pulled her closer, his heart breaking at the pain in her voice. "I'm not going anywhere."

When he tried to lay her down again, her grip tightened and she buried her face in his neck. Jack kissed the crown of her head, then lay down next to her.

"I'm right here, sweetheart. Go to sleep."

"I was dreaming about Mommy." Sydney burrowed into Jack's chest in an attempt to get closer still. "She wanted to come back to us but the other angels wouldn't let her."

He couldn't tell her it wasn't angels keeping Irina from coming home, so all he said was, "Mommy loves you, sweetheart. If she could come back, she would."

"Miss Andi says Mommy's watching us from heaven." Sydney was already drifting back to sleep; her voice sounded far away. "She says one day we'll see Mommy again."

"Who's Miss Andi?" Jack was fairly certain the nanny's name was Trish.

"Sunday school teacher."

"Sunday school?"

"Lucy invited me. Had fun, Daddy. Can I go back?"

Jack blinked back tears, suddenly realizing how much of his daughter's life he'd missed out on. "Sure, sweetheart. Now get some sleep."

"Love you, Daddy."

Jack closed his eyes, and wept.

* * *

Cape Town, South Africa  
_July 1982_

Irina stood on top of Table Mountain, her thick jacket and scarf doing nothing to keep the chill of the wind from striking her to the bone. She wasn't sure what had driven her to come here, of all places; all she'd known was that one more minute under her cousin's watchful eye would drive her insane.

Every day for the last two weeks Andrei had asked how she was doing. She always responded with, "Fine."

She didn't want to be here, living on Andrei's farm, tasting the wine he made, talking about the children they'd once been. She wanted Katya, and the promise that she would never be alone again.

She shivered as a gust of wind blew in from the sea. No, if she was truly honest with herself, she didn't want Katya. She wanted that which she could never have: Jack. Sydney. Her family.

She wrapped the scarf more firmly around her neck and tugged the woolen beanie down to cover her ears. She missed her hair.

It was easier to think about the unimportant things. If she mourned her hair, she didn't have to remember what else she'd lost.

Papa.

Tears stung her cheeks. She should have been there with him, at the end.

She thought, bitterly, her entire life consisted of should-have-been's.

Andrei had been waiting for her in the kitchen. He'd poured a cup of coffee for her, then slid a scrap of paper across the table. A telegram. She read the words once, burning them into her brain, then crumpled the paper into a tiny ball and shoved it into her pocket. Then she grabbed Andrei's car keys and calmly walked out of the house.

_Papa's dead. Sorry. See you soon._

Irina had been trying so hard to be strong, but it was becoming more difficult with each day that passed.

Someone bumped into her, jolting her from her thoughts. She looked down; a brown-eyed girl with dark hair smiled up at her. Sydney, she thought, then shook her head. This child's skin was more tanned, she had no dimples, and her ears were different.

"_Jammer, Tannie_," the child said through her giggles. Irina just smiled; she had not yet learned Afrikaans, though it was easy to understand the girl was apologizing.

Irina watched the girl skip back to her mother. She glanced around at the other people who had come up with her in the cable car. Locals, tourists . . . she wondered if any of them felt as lost as she did right now.

She gazed back across the ocean again. In the distance she could make out Robben Island. A political prison.

Why had Katya sent her to a place where she would be reminded of Kashmir? She shuddered, then turned around, keeping her back to the island.

She'd been lying to Andrei. She wasn't fine. Everywhere she looked she found reminders of her past.

She had to move on. She had to let go.

Easier said than done when her world kept falling apart.

_J__ammer, Tannie – literally: sorry, Auntie. Most Afrikaans-speaking children call adults auntie or uncle, regardless of whether or not they're related to one another._


	15. Chapter fourteen

Chapter fourteen

_August 1982  
__Los Angeles_

As uncomfortable as Jack felt at being the only male in a room full of ballerinas and their mothers, he refused to give in to his urge to leave and wait for Sydney in the car. Irina should be here, he thought irritably. What did he know about ballet?

Sensing someone's eyes on him, he slowly gazed down the row of chairs. Three seats away, an attractive blonde was smiling at him. His brow furrowed slightly, then he turned his attention back to the class.

Sydney was leaping across the wooden floor, as graceful as if she was onstage. Jack smiled, filled with pride and awe. His baby was growing up so quickly. When she reached the end of the room, she looked at him and grinned. Jack had no way of knowing that his open adoration of his daughter had more than one of the mothers constantly shooting admiring glances in his direction.

He decided Sydney was the most beautiful girl in the world.

Irina should be here, he thought again, but this time he felt no irritation, only the familiar sorrow that she was missing out on Sydney's life. He wondered, as he did every day, where she was and if she was okay.

The class ended, the students curtsying for their teacher, then rushing to their respective parents. Sydney skipped over to where Jack sat.

"Did you see me, Daddy?"

"Of course. You're even better than Anna Karenina."

Sydney frowned. "Who?"

Jack looked to his left at the sound of husky laughter. It was the blonde who had been watching him earlier. "I think your daddy means Anna Pavlova," she said.

He nodded slowly, unembarrassed at his mistake. Irina would tease him mercilessly, of course, but in his defense, he knew nothing about ballet except what Sydney told him.

These days, he had a lot of silent conversations with Irina, but refused to think too hard about the implications of that.

"I'm Angela Diamant," the blonde said, extending a well-manicured hand. "Taryn's mom. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Bristow."

Jack took her hand, immediately and unconsciously comparing it to Irina's. Angela's grip was weak, her hand tiny in his. He let go, then picked up Sydney's kitbag from the floor. "You too, Mrs. Diamant."

"Oh," she laughed again, "it's Ms." She lowered her voice and leaned closer to Jack. "I know this year must have been really hard on you. If you need anything—"

"Sydney and I are fine, thank you." He grabbed Sydney's hand and led her out of the classroom.

"Bye, Taryn," Sydney called. She looked up at Jack. "Are we in a hurry?"

Jack glanced down, immediately slowing his steps. "No, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

"After class, Mommy always let me have an ice cream."

Jack stopped walking and studied his daughter carefully. Her expression was one of pure innocence. Sydney wouldn't lie to him, would she?

"Okay," he said after a while, but made a mental note to ask Irina if he ever saw her again.

When they reached the car, Jack smothered a sigh as he saw who was leaning against the hood.

"Hi, Uncle Arvin!" Sydney waved, then ran to greet him when he opened his arms for a hug.

"Hello, Sydney." Arvin released her, then straightened. "Jack."

"Arvin." Jack unlocked the car and opened the door for Sydney. "Climb in so long, sweetheart. I'll just be a minute."

Once Sydney was out of earshot, Arvin said, "The Director wants to know when you're coming back."

"I don't know." Jack opened the trunk and tossed Sydney's kitbag inside.

""It's been two months, Jack. They understand the need for compassionate leave but—"

"But Laura was a spy, so it doesn't count?" Jack closed the lid of the trunk, carefully controlling his temper. He didn't want to think about returning to work yet. He wanted to spend time with his daughter and remember how things had been before.

He was also very aware that a part of him resented his treatment at the hands of his colleagues immediately following his wife's funeral, but he wasn't foolish enough to admit that out loud.

"Jack," Arvin's tone was sympathetic, "I realize you've had a difficult few months, and perhaps sending you on an assignment so soon after the investigation was not the best idea—"

"My daughter needs me, Arvin."

"Your country needs you."

Jack met Arvin's gaze. When Arvin looked away, Jack said, "I'm not ready yet."

Arvin nodded. "I understand. You've had a lot to deal with."

You have no idea, Jack thought.

"Emily wants you and Sydney to come over for dinner sometime soon. It's been far too long."

"We'd like that." Jack smiled. "Thank you."

Arvin looked at him a moment longer, and Jack wondered if he was going to say something else, but he just smiled and walked away.

Jack got into the car and turned to Sydney. "So, where do you want to get your ice cream?"

* * *

_Cape Town_

Irina was curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. An open book lay forgotten in her lap as she stared at the tracks the rain made on the window. Rain in winter, how odd, she thought.

She didn't notice Andrei enter the living room until he said, "Okay, that's it."

Startled, she jerked at the sound of his voice, the book falling to the floor. "What?"

"Get dressed. We're leaving in an hour."

"I'm not in the mood to go out."

Undeterred, Andrei crossed the room and pulled her to her feet. "You're never in the mood. Now go on, get ready, we're going out."

"But—"

"No arguments, Ira."

She scowled, then gave him a shove as she walked past him out the room. When she reached her bedroom, she turned and called, "Where are we going?"

"Does it matter?"

Irina sighed, then slammed the door closed to express her displeasure. She didn't want to go out. She'd been perfectly happy watching the rain. For a moment she was tempted to show Andrei exactly what she was capable of. It had been too long since she'd put her knife-skills to use.

Forty minutes later she returned to the living room.

"Beautiful," Andrei declared.

She rolled her eyes.

On the drive into town, Andrei announced they would be meeting some friends of his for dinner. Shortly after they arrived at the restaurant, Irina wished she'd followed through with her earlier desire to flay her cousin.

"This is Gavin," he said, introducing her to a man dressed completely in black. His hair was dyed black, and he wore John Lennon glasses. Andrei continued, "Gavin's a director."

Irina allowed Gavin to take her hand and managed to smile. Family or not, she decided, she was going to kill Andrei.

"Andrei tells me you used to act," Gavin said.

She nodded.

"You should audition for my next play. I'm doing—"

"I don't act anymore." She pulled her hand free and sat down.

"That's a pity. I'm sure you're fantastic—"

Irina caught the eye of a waiter and said, "Vodka. Please." She had a feeling she would need more than one drink to get through the night without giving into the urge to murder someone.

"—May I ask why you don't act anymore?"

Irina picked up the knife and turned it over in her fingers. "Because it's all an illusion," she said, "and an illusion isn't good enough."

Gavin looked at her, something resembling awe in his expression. "That's really deep."

Irina was used to being hit on. Sometimes it happened in front of Jack, and the more annoyed he got, the more amused she became. She had enjoyed playing to the attention, then returning to Jack's side to show where her affections lay. Tonight she was just irritated and by the time the main course arrived, she was on her fifth vodka.

Andrei excused himself for a moment, and Gavin took the opportunity to shift his chair closer to Irina's.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Irina's breath caught in her throat. Jack had told her that and she'd known it was his truth. Hearing Gavin say it was the final straw. She tilted her head and smiled. "Really?"

"Oh, yes."

"My husband says the same thing."

If Irina wasn't so furious she would have laughed at the expression on Gavin's face. "You're married?"

"Oh, yes," she mocked, and downed what remained of the vodka in her glass. Then she stood and made her way to the exit.

"Irina!" Andrei ran out after her. "Where are you going? What's wrong?"

She smiled and pulled her cousin into an embrace, dipping her hand into his pocket and stealing his car keys. Then she stepped back. "Home. Thanks for dinner."

"Wait, how will you get there?"

She held up the keys.

"Irina—"

"Don't hurry back," she said. "Gavin's such delightful company. I'm sure you two can find something to do for the rest of the evening."

"You're kicking me out of my own house?"

"You deserve worse," she said. "Don't ever set me up again."

Then she turned and went to the car, leaving her cousin standing stunned in the middle of the parking lot.

_-- "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Jack says._

_"I look like a whale!"_

_"No, you're beautiful." He kisses her, then rubs his hand over her belly. "And our little girl is going to be just as beautiful." –_

Irina gripped the steering wheel and hunched forward, and wept.


	16. Chapter fifteen

Chapter fifteen

_September  
__Cape Town_

"The seasons are all backwards here." Irina absently trailed her finger along the rim of her wineglass as she stared at the setting sun. She and Andrei were sitting out on the verandah before dinner, as had become their habit. "Everything's backwards here. They drive on the wrong side of the road and—"

"How much have you had to drink today?"

Irina glanced at her cousin for a brief moment, then shrugged. "I haven't been counting."

Andrei picked up the wine bottle. "This is almost empty."

Irina gestured in the direction of the vineyards. "We live on a winery. There's no shortage of wine." She reached for the bottle to top up her glass, but Andrei refused to release it.

"I can't remember when I last saw you without a wineglass in your hand."

Irina smiled. "Take it as a compliment, cousin. It's good wine."

"You're turning into an alcoholic."

"I am not."

Andrei was wrong, she thought. She didn't drink too much, just enough to dull the ache that was constantly present. Just enough to be able to sleep at night.

"You never talk about what happened." Andrei put the bottle in front of her. She recognized the test for what it was, and didn't reach for it.

"I don't like to dwell on the past."

"Ira, was it that bad?" Andrei's tone was gentler than she'd ever heard it. "Life in America, life with that man?"

She looked up sharply, her eyes narrowed. Andrei wasn't KGB; how could he know about her assignment?

"Katya told me a little of what they made you do," he continued. "I couldn't believe it."

"They didn't make me do anything." Irina stood. "And Jack is a good man. He didn't deserve—"

She tried so hard not to think about Jack and Sydney these days. Despite the season, there was a chill in the air and Irina shivered. "I'm not very hungry tonight," she said as she disappeared inside.

"Irina, wait!" Andrei followed, his tone apologetic. "I know you don't like to talk about it. I just hate seeing you like this."

She stopped, then slowly turned to face him. "Like what?"

"You're—" He faltered under her glare. "You're different."

"People change, Andrei."

"The Irina I knew would never cry over a man. Over an American."

"It's so easy for you to judge me, isn't it? You ran away from Russia when life got too difficult for you—"

"And what is it you're doing here?"

Irina said nothing for a long time. When she did finally speak, her voice was deceptively calm. "If I had any choice in the matter, I would have stayed."

Unbidden, an image of Sydney sprang to mind. The ache in her chest was sharper than before, and she pressed a hand to the wall to steady herself.

"You did have a choice. You could have turned down the assignment."

Irina reacted without thinking. Blood rushed in her ears and she knew nothing except the feel of skin beneath her palms.

"Irina! _Aheuyet_!"

The next thing she knew, she was on the floor, her back sore from where it had hit the wall. Andrei sat opposite her, rubbing his neck as he warily watched her. She closed her eyes, the desire to fight completely gone. All she wanted now was to curl up and go to sleep.

"Why'd you do that, Andrei?"

"You attacked me!" His voice rose in disbelief. "_Yobany stos_, Ira! They trained you to do that?"

"No, I meant, why did you provoke me?" She drew her knees to her chest and lowered her head. She felt Andrei's hand on her shoulder a second before he spoke.

"You walk around pretending that nothing is wrong. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine."

He chuckled. "Speaking as someone you almost just murdered, I don't agree."

She looked up, horrified. Andrei's neck was red where she'd grabbed him. She released a shaky breath. "I'm sorry."

"Come on, Prudence has been slaving away in the kitchen all afternoon. If you don't eat her food, she'll be offended and probably get her witchdoctor to put a curse on you or something."

Irina thought of the ill-tempered Xhosa house helper, and decided she wouldn't put it past her to curse them. She took Andrei's outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "How do you know she hasn't cursed us already?"

* * *

_Los Angeles_

In his time as an agent, Jack had learned how to assemble an assault rifle in the dark, how to disable a bomb and how to hotwire a car, amongst other useful skills. Braiding the hair of a seven-year-old who was practically bouncing in her chair was not one of them.

"Honey, I need you to sit still."

"Okay, Daddy." Sydney stopped bouncing. A moment later, she started swinging her feet, so energetically her whole body bobbed.

Jack's fingers were cramping from trying to manipulate the hair. He let go. Sydney's hair was so fine it slipped out of the half-assembled braid. Jack held back a sigh of irritation. He could do this.

If only Sydney would just sit still.

He thought of how effortless Irina had made it seem. Maybe it was just a skill all women learned as girls, braiding each other's hair while the boys played with cars. Who would teach Sydney, he wondered, now that Irina was gone?

"Sweetheart, let's play a game," he said.

Sydney looked up, her eyes wide, and nodded. "What kind of game?"

"Statues. You can go first, okay?"

"Okay."

He smiled. "Good. I want you to think of that statue in the park—"

"I want to be the Statue of Liberty."

"Okay. The Statue of Liberty, then. Now, you have to sit very, very still, just like a statue. Can you do that?"

"Yep."

"Great." Jack reattempted the braid, carefully separating Sydney's hair into three sections. When he found he was still struggling, he stepped back and considered the situation. Maybe if he thought of it in terms of a mission, he'd have better luck.

He could almost hear Irina laughing at him.

When it finally occurred to him what to do, he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner. He went into the bathroom and wet his hands, then returned and dampened Sydney's hair. A few minutes later, he finished the braid.

"Daddy, this game's boring."

"It's okay. I'm finished now."

Sydney hopped off the chair. "Daddy, I don't want to go to school."

"It's going to be fun, sweetheart. Your friends are going to be there and—"

"But won't you be bored if you stay home without me?" Sydney gazed up at him, and he knew what she was really trying to say. Every day since Jack had returned from India, he had been with Sydney from the moment she woke up until the moment she went to bed. They were closer than they'd ever been, but now the school year was starting, and their days would be spent differently.

Jack knelt in front of his daughter and put his arms around her. "I'll miss you, but I won't be bored. I'm going back to work today."

Sydney wrapped her arms around Jack's neck. "I miss Mommy."

Jack said nothing, but held her tighter.

An hour later, after he'd dropped Sydney at school, he walked into CIA headquarters. Though he felt the curious stares of his colleagues, he didn't look at them.

Arvin met him in the bullpen. "Jack, welcome back."

Jack gave a thin-lipped smile.

"The Director is waiting for you."

Together, the two men walked to the Director's office. Arvin asked after Sydney, and reminded Jack that Emily's dinner invitation still stood.

"Jack! How are you?" The Director stood to greet Jack. He gave a brief nod to Arvin, and a moment later the door shut, leaving Jack and the Director alone. "You doing okay, Jack?"

"Fine."

"Good. Good. Have a seat."

The last time Jack had been in the Director's office, he'd been apologized to regarding his treatment. Despite the apology, there had been an undercurrent to the Director's words that suggested Jack was still under suspicion, though there was no proof of wrongdoing. Jack had that same feeling today, and wondered if the other agents were still suspicious of him.

"I wanted to talk to you about Project Christmas," the Director said. "Thanks to Derevko, the Soviets have most of our information."

Jack's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"It's prudent to assume they'll be starting testing in the near future, if they haven't already done so. With that in mind, we've decided to move up our project timetable. While you were, uh, away, we isolated a few promising subjects." The Director slid a folder across the desk. "We're keeping you on the project, Jack. In spite of your lack of judgment regarding Derevko, you're still the most qualified to run the project."

Jack thought of how easy it had been to talk to Irina, how genuinely interested she'd seemed, how relieved he was to have an objective opinion. He should hate her for her betrayal, but every time he closed his eyes he saw her as she'd been in India, injured and afraid, and he couldn't grasp the hate.

But he had always been good at pretending, and he would show the CIA what they wanted to see.

"I won't let you down," he said, and reached for the file. He carefully read the information on the first child, then the second, then the third. When he saw the photograph of the fourth child, he froze. "Is this your idea of a sick joke?"

"I'm not a joking man, Agent Bristow." The familiarity was gone; Jack could see how serious the Director was.

"Sydney is not going to be part of this project."

"Read her file. She fits the profile perfectly. I can easily say she seems to be the most promising of the lot. It's as if she was born to it." The Director paused. "What if Derevko started Project Christmas on her already? It's not as if she lacked the opportunity."

Jack shook his head. "She wouldn't."

"I know you loved your wife, but you have to face facts. She wasn't who you thought she was."

"I'm not testing Project Christmas on Sydney."

"Why not?"

"Because she's my child."

The Director smiled. "They're all somebody's children, Jack. This project is your baby. You will put Sydney in it."

"If I refuse?"

"There are still people in this Agency who don't believe you weren't working with Derevko. People who believe you shouldn't have been released."

Jack looked at Sydney's smiling face, and felt sick to his stomach.

_Aheuyet - Russian: What the fuck!  
__Yobany stos – Russian: Fuck/shit!_


	17. Chapter sixteen

_A/N: A thousand apologies it has taken me so long to get this chapter out. The last few weeks have been really busy and I really appreciate your patience. I hope this has been worth the wait._

Chapter sixteen

_October  
__Cape Town_

_His hands are warm on her skin, his touch gentle as he kisses his way down her body. She arches her back, offering all of herself to him._

_"Tell me you love me." His breath tickles, and she smiles._

_"I love you, Jack."_

_He covers her body with hers, takes her wrists and holds her arms in place above her head as he begins to move inside her. "Do you, Laura?" His face hardens, changes, and it's Gerard who says, "Well, Irina? Do you?"_

_He laughs as she tries to free herself from his grasp but her limbs are strangely heavy and she can't move._

_"Forget Jack," he whispers in her ear, "you belong to me now."_

Irina jerked awake, and it took a few minutes to realize that she was in her cousin's house, far away from the horror of Kashmir. She looked around the room and when her eyes finally adjusted to the dark, she assured herself she was alone.

Her pulse still racing, she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes.

It was no use. She knew herself well enough to accept that she would get no more sleep tonight. Sitting up, she reached for the bedside lamp. A flick of the switch later, the room was bathed in a warm yellow light. The clock on the table told her it was just after three.

Irina slipped out of bed and wrapped a nightgown around her body. It was summer, but the house was in a valley and the air was cool this time of night. On her way to the kitchen she passed the entrance to the dining room, and paused.

She had intended to make tea, but tea wouldn't help her forget. She entered the dining room, randomly selected a bottle of red wine from the wine rack, took a wine glass from the cabinet, and returned to her bedroom.

Once she had poured a glass of wine and settled back in her bed, her eye fell on the book that lay on the bedside table. She reached for it and began to read.

* * *

_Los Angeles_

"'There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it—'"

"Daddy, can we have a tea party?" Sydney interrupted sleepily.

"Of course, sweetheart." Jack glanced down at Sydney and smiled. They were lying together on her bed; Sydney curled up against him as he read to her in what had turned into a nightly ritual. This was the third time they were working their way through _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ but Sydney refused to let him read anything else to her. He looked back at the book: "'—a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep—'"

"Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Who will look after me if you die?"

Jack shut the book. "Sydney, honey, I'm not going to die. Don't worry."

"Will I have to go live with Uncle Arvin and Aunt Emily?"

The Sloanes were Sydney's godparents, but lately there had been something in Arvin's behavior that didn't sit comfortably with Jack. Until now, it hadn't occurred to him that Arvin would have to raise Sydney if something happened to him.

It was not a pleasant thought.

Jack hugged Sydney. "Nothing's going to happen to me, sweetheart. I promise."

Sydney smiled, and Jack thought she looked so small and fragile, and the burden of guilt he'd felt since accepting the Director's orders regarding Project Christmas became even heavier.

"Good," Sydney said," I like Aunt Emily, but I want to stay with you forever."

As Sydney fell asleep in his arms, Jack thought about how to make things right for his family.

* * *

_Cape Town_

Irina lay curled on her side, and stared at the mountain through the open window. There was a steady pain in her left wrist; experience told her it was broken. Her head hurt . . . her entire body hurt. Still, though she couldn't remember what had happened, she knew she hadn't been tortured. She slowly rolled onto her back, then froze when she saw a woman sitting in the chair next to the bed.

"It's good to see you're awake."

"Where am I?" Irina looked around the room to see what could be used as a weapon.

"Groote Schuur Hospital." The woman moved closer to the bed. "Can I call you Sonya?"

"Why would you want to call me Sonya?"

The woman frowned, then made a note on the chart she held. "It's your name. Can you tell me what year it is?"

Sonya. Of course. That was the name on the passport Katya had given her when she left India. She stared at the woman, slightly less suspicious than before. "1982. Who are you?"

"Laura Harper. I'm a doctor here."

The sound that escaped Irina's lips was something between a sob and a laugh. Laura. She could run as far away she liked, could wear any other name, but her past would never leave her in peace.

"Sonya, do you remember what happened?"

"No." She closed her eyes. _Bright lights. Noise. Nothing._

"Sonya, you were in a car accident."

_-- An icy road. Panic as the car sinks slowly beneath the surface. Cold. --_

"You wrapped your car around a tree. You're fortunate to be alive."

"Was anyone else hurt?"

Laura shook her head. "There was no one else involved."

Some of the tension left Irina's body. "Okay. Good."

"We ran some blood tests. You were above the legal alcohol limit." The doctor paused. "Your cousin seems to think you're suffering from depression."

"I'm fine," Irina said. "My cousin doesn't know what he's talking about."

"People who are 'fine' don't drive their cars into trees."

Irina felt a chill pass through her. "I'm not suicidal."

"Nevertheless, you have a problem. You're an alcoholic and that needs to be dealt with before someone else ends up getting hurt."

Irina said nothing.

"Sonya, when I examined you I saw some things that disturbed me. I don't know what it is you've been through, but it's clear to me that you need to speak to someone about it. Whatever it is that happened to you, you need to deal with it before it kills you."

Irina looked out the window again. A long moment later, she looked back at Laura. "When can I be discharged?"

--------- excerpt from _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carroll.


	18. Chapter seventeen

_A/N: Once again, apologies for the huge gaps between posting. I've been traveling, so finding time to write has been a challenge, but I'm home now so hopefully the updates will be more regular. Thanks for all the comments; I'm glad you're all still enjoying the story._

Chapter seventeen

_November  
C__ape Town_

The last rays of sunlight streamed through the kitchen blinds as Irina sat at the table, irritably trying to relieve her itchy wrist by sticking a pen between the cast and her skin. She remembered how she and Jack had decorated Sydney's cast when she had injured her leg on a camping trip. Irina's cast now was still plain and white.

"You're as thin as you were when I saw you in India." The familiar voice caused Irina to turn in her seat, and she dropped the pen and smiled.

"Katya!"

Katya crossed the kitchen and embraced her sister, then stepped back to study her. "What have you done to yourself, Irushka?"

Irina self-consciously hugged her arms to her chest, but she was too happy to worry about her appearance. "I've tried to put on weight. I can't."

"She's lying. She hardly eats a thing." Andrei set Katya's bag on the ground, then took three wineglasses from the cupboard and picked out a bottle from the wine rack. Irina glared at him, but he just smiled.

Katya took the glass he offered her, grimacing in distaste. "Wine? What kind of Russian are you? Where's the vodka?"

"Katyusha, this is a winery." Andrei hesitated before handing Irina a glass, but she took it from him before he could stop her.

Katya sighed dramatically, then sipped from the glass. She smiled. "It's not too bad."

Irina ran her hand over Katya's head. The last time she'd seen her sister, Katya's dark hair had fallen to her shoulders. Now it was shorn to only a few centimeters in length. "What did you do to your hair?"

Katya shrugged. "I was bored."

"Katyusha."

"What? Long hair didn't suit me. You--" Katya broke off, and she reached up to finger Irina's hair, still short, but longer than it had been in India. "This is more practical."

Irina put her glass down and hugged her sister. "You could never just tell someone you loved them, could you?"

Katya returned the hug. "Oh, Irushka."

Andrei, evidently sensing he was unwanted, stood up. "I'll take your bags to your room."

"Take them to mine," Irina said.

"Yes." Katya tightened her embrace. "We have so much catching up to do."

"I'm so glad you're here," Irina said once Andrei had left the kitchen.

"I needed to talk to you. I've been asking around – Elena said you'd defected. That you were in Kashmir for re-education."

Irina stifled a sob in her throat. "They hadn't gotten around the re-education part yet." She pulled back slightly to look at Katya. "I never betrayed the Soviet Union. Never."

Katya sighed and shook her head. "No, they betrayed you. Ten years you had to live with that man, and they repaid you by throwing you in prison!"

"Katya, don't."

Katya stepped back, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Irina. She sighed again. "I thought you didn't believe in love."

"I didn't," Irina said. "Nothing about the mission was what I expected."

Katya took Irina's hand and held it for a moment before she spoke again. "Was he good to you?"

"Yes. I think if things were different – I think you'd like him. He's smart, Katya. Probably the smartest man I've ever met." She smiled. "And he makes me laugh. You should see him with Sydney; he adores her." Her smile faded as she thought of Nadia. "I wish we could have had more children."

Katya's expression was one of disbelief. "Are you listening to yourself? How can you love him after what he did?"

"How can he love me after what I did?"

"You were serving your country."

"So was he."

Katya opened her mouth to speak, then sighed and sank onto one of the kitchen chairs. "But Sasha . . ."

"I know."

The sisters looked at each other across the table, then Katya suddenly rose and hugged Irina again. "I hate this war."

* * *

_Los Angeles_

Jack hung back slightly and watched Sydney slowly approach her mother's grave. It had been exactly one year since Laura had died, and for the last few days Jack had been agonizing over how to handle it. This morning Sydney had solved the problem for him by announcing that she wanted to visit the cemetery. Jack was so taken aback that she'd remembered the date without any mention of it on his part, that he'd simply nodded and said, "Okay, sweetheart."

When Sydney had gone on to mention that it was a school day, Jack smiled and said he was sure her teacher would understand if she took the day off. They finished eating in silence, then Sydney had run upstairs to get ready.

An hour later, they were finally at the cemetery, Sydney wearing a dress slightly too small for her, but one that Irina had often told her was pretty. Jack blinked back tears as he watched Sydney solemnly place three roses on the ground in front of the headstone. He stood just close enough to hear Sydney, but not too close to intrude.

"Hi, Mommy. I know you're not really here, but Daddy says if I speak to you, you can still hear. I guess that must be true, 'cause Daddy knows everything." She bit her lower lip and sighed. "I guess heaven must be really nice, 'cause if it wasn't, you'd have come back by now."

She fell silent, and Jack took a step towards her, then checked himself. He tried to gauge what she was thinking, but couldn't, and wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her she didn't have to be sad, her mother wasn't dead, and he'd take her to Irina if he could.

"Daddy misses you," Sydney continued. "I can tell 'cause he doesn't laugh so much anymore. But I'll look after him, Mommy, I promise, and I'll try to be good. I wish you could come back. You gave the best hugs."

She turned and smiled at Jack. "Okay, Daddy. We can go now."

Jack held out his hand, and together they walked back to the car.


	19. Chapter eighteen

Chapter eighteen

_November  
__Los Angeles_

Jack leaned against the railing and watched Sydney go around the carousel. Every time she went past, she yelled, "Daddy!" and Jack waved at her. Someone came and leaned on the railing next to him but Jack paid no attention until the newcomer spoke.

"Hello, Jack."

He tensed. "Katya. It's always a pleasure."

"Daddy!" Sydney squealed as she passed him.

"Is that Sydney?"

"Yes."

After a while, Katya said, "She looks like Irina. She's got your ears, though. Poor child."

Jack finally turned to look at her. With her shaved head and punk attire, she was nothing like the image he'd carried in his mind all these months. "Trying to blend in?"

"No one looks at punks, Jack. Not in a place like Los Angeles."

They watched the carousel go around in silence, Jack ignoring Katya's curious gaze as he returned Sydney's wave.

"Aren't you going to ask about her?"

"Can I trust your answer?"

Katya brushed against him, her lips skimming his ear as she whispered, "Irina Derevko is dead."

When she was gone, he dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the envelope she'd tucked inside. On the front was a date and coordinates. Inside, a typed note.

From the carousel, Sydney yelled, "Daddy! You're not watching!"

He smiled at his daughter as he crumpled the message into a ball and shoved his fists into his pockets.

The carousel slowed, but Sydney didn't wait for it to come to a complete stop before she hopped off the horse and ran to Jack. "That was so much fun, Daddy. Can I go again?"

"It's getting late, sweetheart. We should head home."

Sydney's smile faded. "There's nothing to do at home."

"Tell you what, instead of going home, why don't we eat at a restaurant tonight? How does that sound?"

"Pizza Hut?"

"But we ate there last week—"

"But it's my favourite." Sydney looked up at him with a pleading expression, one Jack was becoming all-too-familiar with, and one he could never resist. He had a strong suspicion that when Sydney tried this with Irina, she didn't get her own way half as much as she did with Jack.

He sighed. "Okay. Pizza Hut it is."

"Thank you, Daddy! I love you!" Sydney threw her arms around his waist and hugged him.

And Jack knew for certain he'd been played.

They walked to the car hand-in-hand, and Sydney asked, "Who was that strange lady?"

"What lady?"

"The one with short hair, and all the spiky things. You were talking to her instead of watching me."

"I don't know."

There was disapproval in Sydney's tone as she said, "You're not supposed to talk to strangers, Daddy."

"I don't think she was a bad person, sweetheart." Jack tried to hide his amusement at how grown-up Sydney sounded. She was obviously taking very seriously her promise to Irina that she'd 'look after Daddy'.

"She didn't look like a nice person."

"Well, sometimes you can't judge a person by what they're wearing. That's not very fair."

Sydney stopped and looked up at Jack, her eyes wide. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"No!"

Sydney bit her lower lip. "Do you – do you want a girlfriend?"

She spoke so softly that Jack had to strain to hear her. He knelt in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders, looking directly into her eyes. "Sweetheart, I still love Mommy very much. So much that I don't think I could ever want a girlfriend."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"I wish Mommy wasn't dead," Sydney whispered, then burst into tears.

Jack pulled her into his arms. "I miss her too, sweetheart."

* * *

_Cape Town_

"Madam, there's someone at the door."

Irina looked up from the book she was reading, irritated at the disturbance. She frowned at the house helper. "Well, tell Andrei. He's expecting a client."

Prudence clicked her tongue. "No, madam, those people already came this morning."

This morning? Irina glanced at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see it was already late afternoon. She looked at Prudence, who was still standing in the doorway. "Well, I'm not expecting anyone. This must be another buyer."

"Madam, this man says he wants to speak to you."

Irina closed the book with more force than was necessary and strode past Prudence towards the front door. If this was another of Andrei's attempts at matchmaking, she might need to seriously consider putting her knife skills to use again.

She froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat, and reached for the wall to steady herself.

"Jack!"

He smiled uncertainly and stepped across the threshold. "Hi."

Irina couldn't move, couldn't think; all she could do was stare at Jack, and there was a part of her that wondered if she'd completely lost her mind and this was all in her imagination. And suddenly he was right in front of her and all her senses screamed that this was real.

"You look – You're more beautiful than I remember." His hand traced the curve of her cheek, and at his touch she smiled.

"You're here."

"Yes."

She needed to touch him, and reached up to caress his face.

And then she was in his arms. It was as if he'd just arrived home from a mission, only this was better because there were no lies between them now.

Prudence, in the mean time, had gone to call Andrei, who cleared his throat to announce his presence, then stifled a laugh when neither Irina nor Jack acknowledged him.

"Irushka, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Irina didn't look away from Jack to reply, "Go – Go pick some grapes or something, Andrei."

Jack kept one arm around Irina as he turned to face Andrei. He extended his free hand, and his smile was forced as he said, "Jack Bristow."

Irina recognized the look of mischief on Andrei's face; she'd seen it a thousand times since they were children. Andrei took Jack's hand. "Andrei."

"My cousin, Andrei," Irina clarified. "He's really sorry he's got plans this evening, otherwise he'd love to stay and chat."

"I have plans?"

"Yes. And you'll be late if you don't get going now."

Andrei nodded. "Right. Of course. Nice meeting you, Jack."

Andrei scooped the car keys from the key rack and went outside. The door had hardly clicked shut when Jack had Irina pressed against the wall. "I like him," he murmured against her neck, "He knows how to take a hint."

Irina tugged at Jack's shirt. Once it was free of his belt, she slipped her hands underneath and gave a soft, contented sigh. It had been far too long since she'd been in her husband's arms; over a year since they'd made love, and right now she wanted – needed – nothing more than to feel him inside her again. Everything else could wait.

Jack pulled back, breaking the contact between them, and swore under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair, then looked apologetically at Irina. "I'm sorry. I didn't come here just to jump you in the hallway."

She smiled and grabbed his shirt to pull him back to her. "Let's try this again."

He played with the hem of her blouse. "Are you sure? I mean, are you okay to be doing this?"

She recalled a similar conversation in India. "Jack, it was months ago. I'm fine."

He shook his head, then took her left hand in his and gently ran his fingers over her cast. "What's the story behind this?"

"Car accident. I'm fine, Jack. I promise."

He smiled then, and kissed her. "Okay."

"Okay." She linked her fingers with his, and led him to the bedroom.


	20. Chapter nineteen

Chapter nineteen

"Are you okay? I'm not hurting you?"

Irina hooked her legs around Jack's waist to keep him in place. "This is perfect. Don't move."

"But you're so thin." He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at her.

"I'm not going to break." He didn't look convinced, so she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her chest against his. "I need to be close to you."

Jack rolled so that they were lying on their sides, then slowly began rubbing his hand over her back in slow circles. "I've missed you," he confessed.

Irina was content to simply lie there and enjoy the closeness, but she felt herself growing sleepy, and didn't want to waste a single minute she had with Jack. "How did you find me?"

"Your sister."

"But—" She didn't know what to say. "But Katya hates you."

"And she loves you."

Irina felt tears well up in her eyes. Determined not to cry, she started kissing Jack; his neck his shoulders, the length of his jaw. Their mouths met, and he rolled so she was under him again.

When they made love now, it was not as rushed or as desperate as it had been earlier. They had not been permitted this for over a year, and now it was time to learn each other's bodies again.

"Mine," Irina said, her hand over Jack's heart.

"Mine," he echoed, tracing her collarbone with his finger.

She kissed the scar on his palm from his injury in Kashmir. "Mine."

"Mine." He framed her face with his hands. "I love you, Irina."

"Mine," she whispered as he kissed away her tears. "My Jack."

Her body's response surprised her; she had thought, after Kashmir, she was dead to desire. She had thought she could never want to be touched this way again, but this was Jack. This was her husband.

They held hands as he moved inside her, their eyes locked, and Irina could see nothing but adoration in his gaze. It was a look she had known in another life, and the thought that she had not lost everything was almost too much for her. Joy warred with sorrow, and she started to cry.

Jack stopped moving. "Am I hurting you?"

Mute, she shook her head.

"Irina?"

"I love you, Jack. I love you."

* * *

Jack was still on Los Angeles time, and too wide awake to sleep. He didn't mind; he was happy to lie here and watch Irina. He'd held her for a long time after they'd made love, neither of them speaking. It was enough just to be together again.

His stomach rumbled softly, reminding him that it had been a while since he'd had any meal of substance. He brushed his lips against Irina's forehead, then slipped out of the bed. It was a challenge trying to find his clothes in the dark, so once he'd put his boxers on and picked up his shirt, he decided the odds of anyone else being up were slim, and went in search of the kitchen.

"So you're Ira's Jack."

Jack peered over the open refrigerator door to see Andrei leaning against the kitchen counter. He stood and let the door swing shut. "Uh, yes."

"Hmm." Andrei studied him, his expression inscrutable, but Jack was no stranger to interrogation. Then Andrei smiled. "I suppose you missed dinner."

Jack nodded.

"Prudence left food in the warmer." Andrei opened the drawer and looked inside. "I'm not sure what it's supposed to be."

"I'll just have a sandwich."

"Is Irina eating too?" Something in Andrei's tone gave Jack pause, and he looked curiously at the other man. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed how thin she is," Andrei continued.

"Is she ill?" Jack hesitated on the last word; the possibility was too awful for him to comprehend.

"She doesn't skip meals on purpose." Andrei sighed, then sat at the kitchen table and gestured for Jack to do the same. Only once Jack had also sat down, did he continue. "It's as if she just doesn't care about anything. She might as well be a ghost."

"She said something about a car accident," Jack prompted.

"She drinks, all the time. I tried talking to her about it once, but you know how she can be. I didn't realize how serious things had become." He drummed his fingers on the table, his eyes glancing around the room but never meeting Jack's.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"When it happened, I thought she had done it on purpose."

"She wouldn't—"

"You don't know her anymore, Jack. She's different now."

Jack thought of how fragile Irina had seemed in his arms, and he wondered how he would be coping if he didn't have Sydney to ground him. He recalled Katya's words: _Irina Derevko is dead_, and wondered if this is what she had meant. Then he stood up and turned back to the fridge. "Could you get me two plates?"

* * *

Irina woke to an empty bed, and for a horrible moment thought she had only dreamed Jack. But then she heard his voice in the hallway and she relaxed. She stretched across the bed to turn on the lamp.

Jack entered carrying a tray with two plates and two mugs on it. Irina raised an eyebrow as she watched him approach her. "Hungry, Jack?"

"One's yours." Carefully balancing the tray, he sat on the bed, then settled it on his lap. "Are you hungry?"

Irina tilted her head, considering Jack's question.

He held out one of the plates. "Or were you planning to live on love this weekend?"

Irina kept her expression serious as she said, "No, no, I think I need to keep up my strength," and she took the plate.

"Good. Because I have something for you, and you're only going to get it when you've finished eating."

Laughter spilled from her lips; it hadn't felt this good to laugh in months. "Oh, you have something for me, do you?"

She had missed his smile, she thought, and there was something in his expression that she couldn't quite decipher when he said, "Eat."

She took a bite of the sandwich, realizing, to her surprise, just how hungry she actually was. Once her plate was empty, she reached for a mug. "Thank you."

"Don't move. I'll be right back." Jack picked up the tray and left the room. Irina propped a pillow against the headboard to make herself more comfortable, and sipped her tea. When Jack returned, he was carrying his bag. He unzipped it, rummaged around inside, then pulled out a photo album and handed it to Irina.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

She put her mug on the nightstand and opened the album. Sydney, dressed as a turkey, smiled up at her from the front page. Irina pressed her lips together to stifle her cry, then looked at Jack. "She – It's – Jack, thank you."

He smiled. "Would you prefer to be alone, or—"

"No." She held out her hand, and he climbed onto the bed. She shifted forward to make space for him to sit behind her, then relaxed against his chest. This had always been one of her favourite positions.

She turned the page. "I found a roll of film from before you – before the accident," Jack said. The photo of the three of them had been taken on one of their frequent picnics in the park. Irina felt tears run down her cheeks, but she did nothing to check them. She stared at the image for a long time before turning to the next page.

Sydney and Jack. Sydney in her ballet clothes. Sydney waving from the branches of a tree. Sydney clutching a teddy bear to her chest as she slept. Sydney posing with her bag on the first day of school.

Irina's gaze lingered on each picture as she drank in the details of her child. "She's so beautiful," she finally said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Like her mother." Jack's voice was also slightly choked and fresh tears spilled from Irina's eyes.

"She's getting so big."

"She's so tall for her age, the tallest in her class, I think. Do you remember how small she was?"

Jack's hand covered Irina's belly, but as his thumb brushed her skin, it was Nadia she thought of, not Sydney. She couldn't breathe. "Jack—"

"She's stubborn, like you," Jack continued. "And she's smart, so smart."

He was still stroking her belly, and it was more than Irina could bear. She shoved the album off her lap and scrambled out of Jack's embrace. Then, suddenly conscious of her nakedness, she took her robe from the closet to cover herself.

"Irina?"

She couldn't look at him, and slowly sank to the floor. He was at her side in an instant. "I'm sorry," she said. "I tried – but – I couldn't – she was too small – too soon—"

"Irina, what are you talking about?"

Irina didn't register the panic in his voice; she was back in that cell with her dead baby.

Jack picked her up and carried her back to the bed. "Irina?"

"She died, Jack. I'm so sorry."

"Sydney's fine." Jack opened the album. "Look at her. She's fine. See?"

Irina's hand trembled as she traced the outline of Sydney's face. Then she reached for Jack and pulled him closer to her. Pressing her body against his, she began kissing him. She didn't want to think, she wanted to forget; she wanted to disappear. But he pushed her away, holding her at arms' length.

"Sweetheart, what did they do to you? What did they tell you?"

She didn't hear him, focusing instead on his apparent rejection. "Don't you want me? Aren't I good enough?"

"Were you drinking earlier, before I came? Is that it?"

Anger was better than pain, and Irina sat up. "You've spoken to Andrei."

He didn't deny it. "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong?"

"What's wrong is that people keep trying to fix me! But I'm fine!" She got off the bed, putting distance between her and Jack. Her gaze fell on her mug, and she threw it against the wall. Still not satisfied, she picked up the lamp. The room went dark as Irina hurled it at the wall as well.

"Irina!"

Jack slipped out of bed and opened the curtains to let the moonlight shine in. Then he carefully made his way around the bed until he was right in front of Irina. He took both her hands in his. "No. You're not fine."

She smiled bitterly. "Of course not. I'm already dead. I died when she did."

Jack closed the distance between them, sliding one arm around her waist to keep her in place, and brushing away her tears with the thumb of his free hand. "Who, sweetheart? Laura?"

She leaned into his touch. Dare she tell him? She was afraid he would hate her, but she was so tired of hurting. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. "No. Nadia."


	21. Chapter twenty

Chapter twenty

Jack sat on the floor, Irina asleep in his arms, and thought about all she'd told him.

A baby. Another daughter.

Sydney would have loved a sister. She would have treated her like a little doll, and helped Irina bathe her and dress her, and when they got older they would have played together.

And Jack would have loved another child, another little girl who looked like her mother. Someone else to take to the carousel, to call him Daddy and give him sticky kisses and hugs more precious than anything else in the world.

He couldn't breathe. _Nadia._

_Irina._

He couldn't help but picture Irina as he'd found her in Kashmir; she'd been little more than a shadow of the woman he knew, and he remembered wondering what they had done to her to break her like that. He imagined her alone and frightened, trying to hide her pregnancy; then helpless to save her – their – baby.

Jack recalled how, with Sydney, they had excitedly measured Irina's expanding belly as each month passed. He remembered evenings in front of the television when he massaged her feet, the first time he'd felt Sydney kick against his hand, stocking up on the papaya Irina craved for the entire nine months.

There would have been no papaya in Kashmir, Jack thought. No massages, no one to feel the baby kick.

No one to comfort Irina afterwards, either. No one to hold her and tell her it wasn't her fault.

He could do that for her now, he decided, and kissed the crown of her head.

"Nadia," he whispered, testing the name. "Nadia Bristow."

He realized with some measure of surprise that he was crying, but he didn't dare release Irina to wipe away his tears.

He remembered how small Sydney had been as a newborn; Nadia must have been even smaller. He wished he could have seen her, just once.

A sob escaped his throat, and he bent his head and wept.

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the open window as Irina woke, again alone. She sat up slowly, and noted that the broken mug and lamp had been cleaned up. Tightening the belt of her robe around her waist, she went to find Jack.

He was in the kitchen, chatting amiably to Andrei from behind the stove. Even Prudence seemed to be in an unusually cheerful mood, and Irina stood in the doorway and watched.

Jack saw her first. "Good morning."

"Morning." She remained where she was, uncertain as to what to do; she'd never intended to tell Jack about Nadia, and now she didn't know what to say to him.

"Did you sleep okay?"

She nodded.

"Uh, I'm making omelets for breakfast – well, brunch, I guess. Do you want one?"

"Sure," she said, though she wasn't hungry.

"You know, Ira, if you didn't like the décor, you should have just said so."

Irina tore her gaze from Jack to glare at her cousin. "Don't, Andrei."

"I'm just saying—"

"I'll buy you a new damn lamp!" She leaned against the doorjamb then said, quietly, "I'm sorry."

Jack handed the spatula to Andrei and went to Irina. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She softened in his embrace; this was what she needed, to know that he didn't blame her. She clung to him, not caring that they weren't alone.

He kissed her, soft and brief, and she tilted her head back so he could kiss her properly. Prudence left the room, muttering in Xhosa, and Andrei said, "Uh, I think I've killed your omelets."

"It's okay." Jack smiled. "We can eat out, can't we?"

"Yes."

He nipped at her earlobe. "But I think we should take a shower first."

* * *

Hand-in-hand, they strolled through the flea market, as if they were an average couple without any cares in the world. Early afternoon, the market was at its busiest, and both Jack and Irina liked the anonymity they felt in being part of the crowd.

"I like Cape Town," Jack said eventually.

"You've been here a day."

He nodded in the direction of Table Mountain. "I like the scenery."

Irina slipped her arm around his waist. "How long can you stay?"

"My flight's on Monday morning."

Irina said nothing, but he knew that she, too, felt it was not enough time. There could never be enough time.

"Who's looking after Sydney?"

Jack frowned slightly; this trip had been so hurriedly arranged that he'd had no other choice. "She's with Arvin and Emily."

"Oh." They walked in silence for a while. "How is Emily?"

"She's the same. She invites us over for dinner at least once a week; I think she thinks we need looking after."

"I should be there." Irina sighed, blinking quickly to hide how moist her eyes had become. "Was I a good wife, Jack? Were you happy?"

Jack guided them to the edge of the path so they were not in anyone's way, then kissed Irina. He didn't know what else he could do to show that he had loved her, still loved her, would always love her. "Yes," he said.

"I'm sorry things—" She shook her head.

Jack kept his arm around her as they resumed walking.

A while later, Irina stopped at a book stall. "Jack, look!"

He watched in amusement as she picked up a book from the children's section and reverently paged through it.

"It's a first edition."

"Fairy tales?" He'd only glimpsed the cover.

"Well, yes, but specifically the ones that have been turned into ballets. 'Giselle'. 'Coppelia'. 'Swan Lake'." She looked at Jack. "Do you think – Would Sydney--?"

"I'm sure she'd love it."

Irina smiled; one of the rare smiles that lit up her entire face – a glimpse of the woman she had used to be. She turned to the woman who ran the stall. Jack watched her as she paid for the book, his own smile sad. He could never tell Sydney that this was a gift from her mother.

How could he keep secret from her the fact that Irina was still alive? He knew he couldn't keep silent forever. Would Sydney understand when she found out?

He could tell her the truth now, he thought, and risk Irina's life. Or he could wait until he figured out a solution to this whole thing, and risk Sydney's hate.

Irina returned to his side, still smiling, and she hooked her arm through his.

And Jack's decision was made.


	22. Chapter twentyone

Chapter twenty-one

Irina and Jack were on the porch overlooking the estate, enjoying the last moments of daylight as the sun sank on the horizon. Despite Jack's look of disapproval, Irina had poured them both a glass of wine, insisting that Jack would insult her cousin if he didn't try it. She sipped her drink slowly, determined to show Jack she didn't have a problem.

"Tell me more about Sydney," she said.

Jack smiled. "I think she's taking advantage of the fact that I'm clueless."

"In what way?"

He told her about ice cream after ballet class, and Pizza Hut, and by the end of it Irina was laughing.

"Jack Bristow, game theorist – outplayed by a seven-year-old!"

Jack joined in her laughter, then said, "It's strange. I'm so used to thinking of her as our baby, but she's growing up. She's got a mind of her own, and – she's this mini-person already. It's – terrifying."

"Just wait until she's old enough to start dating."

Jack frowned. "She'll never be old enough for that."

Irina's laughter only increased and she leaned back in her chair. It had been a long time since she had laughed this much. Jack looked at her, and slowly started to smile.

"Maybe when she's thirty," he said.

"And then only if the poor boy has passed your background check, am I right?"

"It's a father's right to be protective of his daughter."

Irina's hand moved to her stomach, and her laughter faded as she broke eye contact with Jack. Nadia would always be between them now, she thought, and wondered if she would ever stop feeling guilty. A mother was supposed to protect her daughter too.

"Irina—"

"How is work? Are you still on Project Christmas?" She forced a smile. "Don't worry; I won't be passing along any information."

Jack shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and downed what remained of his wine before speaking. "Yes, I'm still on Project Christmas."

Irina reached for the bottle to refill the glasses. "You know, I didn't tell them everything. Enough to prove my loyalty, but—"

Jack's hand caught hers mid-air. "They made me put Sydney in the program."

Irina sat very still, trying to understand what couldn't possibly be true. But Jack kept looking at her, and the expression on his face left no room for doubt. Irina pulled her hand free. "Are you insane? What were you thinking, agreeing to that?"

"What's the alternative? More time in prison while somebody else runs the project?" He lowered his voice. "This way I can protect her."

"Protect her? You're programming her! Look at what this life has done to us and you're programming her for it!"

"Well is it anyway wonder they picked her? Look at who her parents are." Jack's expression was stony. "They suggested you may have been training her already."

Irina couldn't reply immediately. She stood and walked to the other end of the porch. The sun was almost completely hidden behind the horizon, and the valley air was cooling fast. Irina turned around and looked at Jack. "Why did you come here, Jack? For a fuck? Couldn't you find anyone in LA?"

"You know that's not true."

Irina folded her arms across her chest; partly for warmth and partly because she was afraid she was going to lash out at Jack. "Which part?"

Jack slowly walked over to her. "I came because I love you, and I'm worried about you, and I'm trying to find a way to fix our lives."

Irina looked away. "I never did anything to Sydney. They wanted her tested; I told them I wouldn't do it."

"I haven't been – All I've done with her so far are the initial tests. IQ. Aptitude. Spatial awareness." He raised his hands as if to put them on her shoulders, but let them fall to his sides before he touched her. "I haven't – I don't intend to get as far as any actual training."

Irina leaned into him and waited until his arms were around her before she spoke. "I love you, too. I'm sorry I doubted your motives."

"Yeah, well, I think both of us have a lot to learn about trust."

She looked up at him. "I do trust you, Jack. But sometimes I forget you're not like other men – you're not like – I know I shouldn't but – I think I've forgotten what it feels like to be loved – to be touched in a way that isn't cruel – and I know you're different, _ I know_ but—"

"Shh." Jack touched his finger to her lips. "You don't have to explain."

He pulled her towards the centre of the porch and, still holding her close, began slow-dancing. She recalled countless other nights like this: a tiny apartment in DC, Sydney cradled between them; in front of the fireplace; in LA, surrounded by boxes that needed unpacking; the night before she left.

"Are you starting to remember yet?"

"What?"

"Love. Do you remember?"

She nodded, then closed her eyes and leaned her head on Jack's shoulder. A moment later, his hand slipped beneath her shirt. She smiled. "What are you doing?"

"Seducing you. Is it working?"

She laughed. "Maybe."

They danced in silence for a while, then she said, "I was sent to America to seduce you. That's all I ever was to them; a whore."

"You're not a whore. You're my wife." His arms tightened around her. "Wait a second; so how was it that I was the one pursuing you?"

"I was terrified of you. You were my enemy, and the thought of having to be intimate with you – of possibly marrying you – I didn't think I could do it."

"You were afraid? I was the one trying to figure out how to get the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen to go out with me."

She laughed again, relaxing in his embrace. "All I knew of you was what I'd read in a file. I wasn't prepared to like you."

Jack nipped at the spot where her neck met her shoulder. "And is that all you feel, Mrs. Bristow? Do you just like me?"

"Jack, how can you just forget what I did to you? How can you act as if it's nothing?"

All playfulness disappeared from Jack's voice. "Because when I thought you were dead, I was lost. It doesn't matter that I met you under a name. I don't love your name. I love _you_."

"I lied to you, and I stole from you—"

"And you loved me, and you gave me Sydney."

Irina didn't know what to say. She didn't deserve his forgiveness; she didn't deserve anything from this man, but here he was, offering his heart.

"I did worse," Jack continued, looking away, "I took your brother away from you. I should be the one asking how you can possibly still love me."

Irina gasped and, wrapping her arms around Jack, pulled him closer. "I do. You know I do."

"If I'd known—"

"Shh." She mimicked his earlier action and put her finger to his lips. "Maybe we should let the past be."

He nodded.

They looked at each other for a long time before Irina smiled and playfully tilted her head to one side. "So were you seducing me just for the sake of seduction, or did you have something else in mind?"

Jack grinned, and scooped her into his arms. "You know, you're still the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

On the way to the bedroom, Irina said, "Do you think we'll be okay?"

"I know it," Jack replied.


	23. Chapter twenty two

Chapter twenty-two

When Irina woke the next morning, lying spooned with Jack, skin to skin, everything felt so familiar that for a moment she forgot how much had changed. It was when she realized this was not their bedroom in LA, and that Sydney was not going to be running in any minute, that she knew things would never go back to the way they had been before. If the CIA found out what Jack had done, they would imprison him again. Sydney had already lost one parent; Irina would not let her lose the other.

Jack would argue, of course, but he would ultimately do what was best for Sydney. Irina believed that.

She rolled over to face her husband. Though he didn't yet know it, this was their last day together, and Irina wanted to make the most of it.

"Good morning," Jack mumbled against her neck.

"Yes. It is."

"Tell me we don't have to get out of bed today."

She smiled. "We don't have to get out of bed today."

"Good." His head disappeared beneath the covers, but Irina wasn't left to wonder too long at what he was up to. She burst out laughing when he blew a raspberry on her stomach.

"Jack!"

He pulled the blanket over them both, blocking out the rest of the world, and settled himself on top of her. Unrepentant, he said, "What?"

"You know that tickles."

"Really?" He grinned, then slid down her body again.

"Jack, don't—" She began to protest, but stopped when Jack kissed her instead. His tongue circled her belly button as he slipped one hand between her legs.

"Still want me to stop?"

"Ummm."

"I can't get enough of you."

_I can't get enough of you._

Just like that, she was back in Kashmir. Cuvee, whispering in her ear that she had bewitched him, and he could make life easier for her if she would just co-operate with him. But she wouldn't; she would fight, every time.

She realized she wasn't shackled and decided to act. She kicked at the body on top of her; if she could get free, she could—

"Irina?"

Hands on her wrists. She bit down on his forearm, hard enough to draw blood, then scrambled out from underneath—

Jack.

She stared at him in horror. He didn't look angry, just confused, and concerned. Irina pulled the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around herself. Functioning purely on autopilot, she fetched the First Aid kit from the bathroom and sat next to Jack.

"What happened just now?" he asked.

She shook her head; if she spoke, she would cry, and she'd cried enough. She poured some antiseptic solution on a piece of cotton wool, then dabbed it on Jack's wound. Then she wrapped a bandage around it. When she was finished, Jack cupped her chin and forced her to look at him.

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry."

His gaze was questioning, but he was mercifully silent.

"Do you think – Could you just hold me?"

He traced her lips with his thumb. "I have a better idea."

"Jack, I don't think right now—"

"Not that." He fetched a shoebox from his bag and held it out for Irina to take. "I was going to wait until tonight to give you this, but I think you need it now."

She accepted the gift and slowly lifted the lid, then looked at Jack.

"Sydney and I built this little post box; we keep it next to your bookshelf. Every Sunday Sydney writes you a letter, telling you about her week." He sat next to her. "It was Emily's idea. She thought it might help Sydney to deal with everything."

"I can't believe it's been a year." Irina leaned against Jack. "I miss her so much."

"She misses you too. So do I."

"Jack, I—" She couldn't do it; couldn't tell him to let go and move on. She didn't want him to leave. She wanted Sydney with her, and she wanted Nadia alive. She pushed the box at Jack. "Will you read them to me?"

"Of course." He picked up one of the letters and opened it. "'Dear Mommy. Me and Daddy went to the carousel. Lucy says angels can see us from heaven. Were you watching us Mommy? There was a funny lady there. But don't worry. She's not Daddy's girlfriend. Daddy says he doesn't want a girlfriend. I know 'cause I asked him. I wish you could come back Mommy. I know heaven's real nice but I miss you. Sometimes I'm scared that Daddy's going to go to work and not come back, like you. But I think you're his guardian angel. So you won't let that happen. Right Mommy? Love Sydney.'"

Irina took the letter from Jack and traced her daughter's words. Sydney was still hurting, but she was healing. She was probably better off than either of her parents.

"Jack, I want you to be happy. I want – I want you to move on with your life." She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "You should get married again. Sydney needs a mother—"

"I already have a wife. She already has a mother."

Her hands shook as she folded the letter and returned it to the box. "We could divorce. You'd be free."

Jack pulled her into his arms; the box tumbled from his lap, spilling letters onto the floor. "I don't want a divorce. I want you."

"You took an incredible risk coming here. You can't do it again, Jack. We can never meet again."

Jack sighed. "Are you Russians always so fatalistic?"

She looked at him, and registered the lack of surprise in his expression. He'd anticipated this, she thought. He was convinced everything would work out, and in that moment, she believed him.

"Yes." She laughed, then kissed him.

Jack held her closer. "I love you. I want you. Only you. We'll figure this out, sweetheart. I promise."

Irina pulled away after a while, and smiled. "Will you read me another letter?"

* * *

Jack and Irina stood on the porch, neither sure what to say. Jack decided he didn't need words, and pulled Irina into a hug, holding her as tight as he dared. He wasn't ready to leave yet, but he knew there was no way he could stay longer. Sydney needed him, and he needed to convince the CIA that he was dutifully carrying out his orders regarding Project Christmas.

"I love you," Irina whispered.

It was easy to pretend he was only going away on a short trip, and that they would see each other again soon. "Love you, too."

They kissed again, and then Jack picked up his bag and walked over to the car where Andrei was waiting to drive him to the airport. He and Irina had agreed it was better to part at the house, and as Andrei drove away, Jack looked back at her. She was still on the porch, her hands gripping the railing, and Jack held the image of her in his mind until long after she was out of sight.

"I think, in another life, we could have been friends," Andrei said.

Jack gave a weak smile. "Look after her for me."

Andrei nodded.

Two hours later, as Jack's flight took off, he discovered the letter Irina had slipped into his pocket.

_My darling Jack, I had to write this because I knew I didn't have the courage to say it aloud. Not again, not without giving in and believing there is a chance for us. Forgive me, love. I want you to come back to me. I want to believe that we can be a family again. But we can't. It's too dangerous. Think about what would happen to Sydney if you were caught; she would lose her mother again, and she'd lose her father too. Let me go, Jack. You and Sydney can be happy again, I know that. I know you'll do what's best for her. Don't worry about me; I'll be fine. For the first time in months I feel alive again. Thank you. Look after our little girl, and never let her forget how much I love her. Maybe one day the world will be different and we can find our way back to each other. All my love. I._

Jack stared at the note, reading it over and over until he knew it by heart. Then he went to the restroom and tore it into tiny pieces and threw it into the toilet bowl. Bracing his hands on the sink area, he hunched forward and wept.


	24. Chapter twentythree

Chapter twenty-three

_Los Angeles_

Sydney's scream woke Jack from sleep. He grabbed his gun from his bedside drawer, and thumbed it off safety as he rushed downstairs. In the few seconds that it took him to reach the living room, his mind conjured up all sorts of awful possibilities. If anything happened to Sydney . . .

He found Sydney kneeling on the rug, the small postbox in front of her.

"Sweetheart?"

She turned her tearstained face to Jack. "Someone stole Mommy's letters."

Jack had given much thought to how he would explain the disappearance of Sydney's letters to Irina, but he hadn't come up with anything and had been hoping for a little more time to think. He sat next to Sydney. "No one stole them, sweetheart."

"But they're not here."

"Sweetheart . . ." Jack wished he could tell her the truth, but knew that was impossible. Especially since Irina had told him to let her go. "No one stole them. I, uh, put them in a safe place. The postbox was getting full and there was no space for more letters."

Sydney just stared at him, and he had the horrible feeling that she was about to ask to see the safe place. Instead she said, "Daddy, why do you have a gun?"

Jack glanced down at the gun that was still in his hand, and quickly flicked the safety back on. "Uh, well, I have it to protect us. When I heard you scream, I thought someone was hurting you."

"Oh." Sydney frowned and Jack imagined that he could see her mind at work. "You should have told me you moved the letters."

Jack nodded, hiding his amusement at the grown up tone she had adopted. "I'm sorry."

"You promise they're safe?"

"I promise." He thought of how Irina had held each piece of paper as if it was something precious and fragile. He wished he could have given her more than the letters, and it was with a touch of bitterness that he remembered her letter to him. He understood her reasons – on some level he could accept them – but it killed him to think that she was willing to let go of hope for their future.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Why are you crying?"

With shock, Jack realized that there were tears running down his cheeks. He wiped his face with his shirtsleeve.

Sydney put her arms around his neck and kissed each of his cheeks. "I miss Mommy too."

"Oh, honey, I wish I could give her back to you." It was the most honest Jack could be right now.

"It's okay, Daddy. Aunt Emily says Mommy's waiting for us in heaven, and one day we'll be together again."

Jack couldn't keep talking about Irina, not without giving in and telling Sydney the truth. "Did you have a good time with Aunt Emily?"

"Mm-hmm. Uncle Arvin had to work, so me and Aunt Emily planted roses in the garden." Sydney held up her hands for Jack to see. "Aunt Emily says I have green fingers."

Jack smiled.

"Daddy, I didn't want to ask Aunt Emily, but why'd she say my fingers are green? I looked and looked, but I can't see any green."

Jack felt his bad mood lift. "She didn't mean that your fingers were green; she meant that you're good at working in the garden."

"Did you have a good trip, Daddy?" Sydney's smile turned coy. "Did you bring me a present?"

"Wait here a minute." Jack returned upstairs and put his gun back in the drawer before picking up the book Irina had picked for Sydney. He saw Irina in the market, the uncertainty on her face as she asked his opinion on the book. He couldn't stay angry with her, and wondered what it had cost her to write that letter. If he was in her position, he wouldn't have had the strength to do it.

"Daddy!" Sydney's voice carried from downstairs. "It's been hours!"

Jack went back down, the book tucked under his arm. "This is a very special book," he said. "You have to promise me that you'll take very good care of it."

Sydney nodded. "I promise."

Jack sat on the couch and patted the spot next to him. When Sydney had joined him, he laid the book on his lap so she could see the cover.

"Sw – swa – swa—" Sydney sounded out the letters, then looked to Jack for help. "I don't know this word, Daddy."

"Swan."

"Swan. Swan Lake and other stories."

"Good."

She grinned. "My teacher says I'm the best reader in the class."

"That's wonderful, sweetheart, but you mustn't brag." He brushed her bangs out of her face and kissed her forehead. "Now, would you like me to read to you?"

Sydney nodded, then immediately shook her head.

"Yes or no, sweetheart?"

"Daddy, I heard Aunt Emily and Uncle Arvin talking about you. I was s'posed to be asleep but I was thirsty and I know I'm not s'posed to listen to other people talking in private but I heard your name so . . ." She trailed off and bit her lower lip, breaking eye contact with Jack.

"It's okay, sweetheart." Jack was curious to know what had been said about him, but he remembered his argument with Irina over Project Christmas, and his promise that he would not program Sydney to be a spy. He opened the book. "Which story would you like to hear first?"

Sydney placed her hand over his to keep from turning the page. Her expression serious, there was a slight quaver in her voice as she said, "Aunt Emily said she thinks you should get married again."

"Oh, sweetheart—"

"I don't want a new mommy."

Jack set the book aside and pulled Sydney onto his lap. "I want you to listen to me, Sydney. Remember that day at the carousel, when I told you how much I still loved Mommy?"

Sydney nodded.

"Good. People don't just stop loving each other, sweetheart. Even though Mommy's not with us now, it doesn't mean that I don't love her anymore. No one else can take Mommy's place in my heart, or in your heart."

* * *

_Cape Town_

The first few mornings after Jack left were the hardest Irina had faced in a long time. Every time she woke up, she expected to see him lying next to her, and once she remembered why they weren't together, she rolled onto his side of the bed, burying her face in his pillow. She lay like that for a long time before she could bring herself to get out of bed and face the day.

Yet, somehow, the days were easier now. Jack's visit had lifted the cloud of depression that had been covering her since the escape from Kashmir. She felt more alive now than at any point over the last year.

"It's nice to see that smile again," Andrei commented over dinner one night. "I was beginning to wonder if the old Irina was ever going to come back."

"I'm not the same person I was when we were kids."

Andrei studied her for a moment, then shrugged. "People don't change their basic selves. When I see you smile like this, I remember the girl who threw snowballs at me in Gorky Park."

"Maybe." Irina took a sip of wine, ignoring Andrei's frown. "Maybe not."

"You were happy with him, your American." He held up his hand to stem Irina's protest. "I'm glad. I like him. I think your father would have approved."

Irina's smile faded at the mention of her father. She could never forgive herself for not being with him in his last days.

"Jack must love you very much," Andrei continued, "to fly halfway around the world to see you."

Irina nodded.

"Will he be back?"

"No." Her appetite suddenly nonexistent, Irina stood. "Excuse me."

"Ira, wait—"

She picked up the bottle of wine and went to her room. Halfway there, she paused and looked down at the item in her hand. The idea of drinking any more of it gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Not wanting to return to the dining room and face Andrei, she just left it on the table in the hall.

She was not an alcoholic, she told herself. She did not have a problem.

She could move on without Jack and Sydney.

But as she lay on her bed, Jack's pillow clutched to her chest, her thoughts were half a world away with her husband and her child.


	25. Chapter twenty four

Chapter twenty-four

_December _

_Cape Town_

"Miss Pavlova, please have a seat."

Irina glanced around Professor Cloete's office as she walked from the door to the desk. The professor seemed quite a character; a shock of wild red hair, glasses sitting lopsided across the bridge of her nose, and a green velvet blazer that had seen better days. Irina smiled warmly as she sat down, deciding that she liked this eccentric woman.

"So you're from Russia. Whereabouts exactly – uh, can I call you Sonya?" She peered at Irina over the top of her glasses.

"Yes. I'm from Leningrad – St. Petersburg."

"St. Petersburg!" The professor's grin widened and she leaned back in her chair. "Dostoevsky."

Irina nodded.

"I just love Russian literature." She removed her glasses and looked at Irina. "I think you'll be a great asset in our English department."

Irina blinked in surprise. "But the interview hasn't even begun."

Professor Cloete shrugged. "I have a sense about people. Besides," she winked conspiratorially, "I've been dying to have a course on Russian lit for years now. You're a Godsend."

Irina had the feeling that she was going to enjoy working with this woman. "How do you know I'm not a KGB spy?"

Professor Cloete roared with laughter. "No offense, but you don't look like one. Now, you're going to have to call me Daphne. I hate formality."

"Okay, Daphne."

She extended her hand. "Welcome to the University of Cape Town. Time for a tour." She stood and beckoned for Irina to follow her.

"Okay, this is the staffroom. The chairs are uncomfortable and during the semester there's a constant cloud of smoke hanging in the air. Charming atmosphere." She rolled her eyes.

Irina smiled and followed Daphne down the hall.

"We'll find an office for you somewhere, hopefully before the semester actually starts. And the library's this way . . ."

It took more than an hour for Daphne to show Irina around, and by the time she returned to the car, she was feeling a lot better about her decision to apply for the job. It would be nice to teach again, to have some structure to her days. When she'd mentioned the idea to Andrei, he'd asked if she wanted to move closer to the school, but she wasn't ready for that much of a change. Baby steps, she thought.

As she thought of Daphne's desire to have a Russian literature course, she grew more excited. It would be nice to read the books in their original form again.

Instead of returning straight home, Irina decided to drive around town for a while. She found herself back at the flea market she had visited with Jack. Mid-week, it was emptier than it had been that day, and Irina slowly strolled up and down the aisles. It was a warm afternoon, but Irina had developed the habit of wearing long-sleeved shirts whenever she left the house. She was still too self-conscious about the scars on her wrists; there was no way she could explain them without remembering what had caused them. It was not quite a case of out of sight, out of mind, but at least this way no one else could see them.

"Fruit, madam!" An old coloured woman called out as she passed and Irina slowed her step as the scent of fresh fruit caught her nostrils. She studied the display before pointing at the papaya.

"How much are these?"

"For you, madam, special price. Eight rand for one."

Irina returned to the car carrying a box of fruit, pleased at how well this day had turned out.

* * *

_Los Angeles_

"Bye, Daddy!" Sydney leaned across the front of the car and kissed Jack.

"Bye, sweetheart. I'll pick you up after the lesson. Stay warm."

Sydney zipped up her sweater and ran from the car to the ballet studio. At the door, she turned and waved before disappearing inside. Jack started the engine and drove back to work.

"The Director wants to see you," Arvin said when Jack arrived.

Jack nodded and changed direction, heading for the elevator. Once he reached the Director's office, he knocked on the door and received a curt, "Enter!"

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, have a seat. I was just wondering at the progress of Project Christmas."

Jack nodded; he'd been prepared for this question for a while now. "I've just finished with all the preliminary testing. We're scheduled to begin in January."

The Director smiled. "Good. Did you still have any issues about putting your daughter in the program?"

"I'm still not a hundred percent happy about it, but if you're right – If Derevko had started programming Sydney, then this is the only way I can undo that."

The Director leaned forward, affecting a mask of sympathy. "And how are you doing, Jack? This last year can't have been easy for you."

"It hasn't been," Jack agreed cautiously, "but Sydney and I are moving on."

"That's good to hear, Jack." He straightened. "I'll expect an update on the project as soon as you have something."

Recognizing the dismissal, Jack nodded and stood. "Thank you, sir."

He returned to the bullpen and sat at his desk, idly paging through reports on Project Christmas as he tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

An hour later, the feeling was still there as he left the office to pick up Sydney, but he told himself it meant nothing. Dealing with the Director always left him feeling ill at ease.

He waited outside the studio for fifteen minutes, then got out the car and walked up the path just as Sydney's teacher was locking the front doors.

"Excuse me, Miss Taylor, where's Sydney?"

Anna Taylor looked up at Jack, and frowned. "Mr. Bristow, Sydney wasn't at class today."

"What are you talking about? I dropped her off myself."

Anna shook her head. "She wasn't in class."

"I watched her come inside!" The uneasiness grew into full-blown panic.

Anna unlocked the doors and motioned for Jack to follow her inside. "She may have got stuck in one of the bathroom cubicles, though I'm sure someone would have heard her. I can't think of anywhere else she could be."

The bathroom was empty but for Sydney's sweater lying crumpled on the floor.


	26. Chapter twenty five

Chapter twenty-five

_Los Angeles_

"I dropped her off and she ran inside," Jack told the detective again. "She waved at me and I drove away."

"You're sure you saw her enter?"

Jack nodded and glanced across the room at Anna Taylor, who was talking to another detective. She was pale and looked shaken, but Jack couldn't bring himself to feel anything except worry for Sydney. All she had was her ballet leotard and sweatpants; he was holding her sweatshirt in his hands. She'd be cold, he thought, wherever she was.

She'd be scared, too.

He thought of Irina suddenly, and felt new horror pierce him. He'd promised he'd protect Sydney, and now she was gone.

"Jack!"

He looked numbly at Arvin, and wondered how he'd found out. It didn't matter; nothing mattered except Sydney's safety. "Sydney's gone," he said.

Arvin put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "We'll find her."

Jack clutched the sweatshirt to his chest and remembered a similar moment; hearing his wife's car had gone into the river, praying that somehow she'd made it out alive, Arvin telling him they'd find her.

"Mr. Bristow," the detective said, "Can you think of anywhere Sydney might have gone instead? A friend's house, maybe?"

He shook his head. "She wouldn't have. We had a pizza date tonight. It's her favourite part of the week."

A uniformed officer entered the room and approached the three men. "Excuse me, Detective?"

Though they moved off to one side, Jack could still hear the conversation.

"We've checked with all the girls in the ballet class. Two of them remember seeing the girl go into the bathroom. None of the girls remember anything out of the ordinary," the officer said.

The detective made a note on his writing pad. "It was between two classes; there were a lot of people in and out of here today."

Jack looked up as the detective returned to his side. "Mr. Bristow, I'll have an officer escort you home. It might be better to have you there in case there's a ransom demand."

"That's not necessary," Arvin said, "I'll drive him home."

Jack rose unsteadily and headed for the door. He felt a hand on his arm and looked down to see Anna. "I'm so sorry," she said.

He couldn't speak. With a brief nod, he pulled free and went out into the cool night.

_Where are you, Sydney?_ he thought.

* * *

He sat on a couch in the living room, a glass of brandy in his hand as he stared at the phone. Arvin was at the bookshelf – still full of Irina's books – blocking Sydney's post box from view. He turned to face Jack, holding a framed photograph. Angling it to show Jack, his tone was pitying, "Jack, you don't need to torture yourself like this."

Jack studied Irina's smiling face, drawing strength from it. "She's her mother."

"You don't need to have her picture out for you to look at all the time."

Jack closed his eyes. "Not now, Arvin. Please."

Arvin crossed the room and sat next to Jack. "I know you loved her, Jack, but she wasn't who you thought she was. She's dead now, and you need to move on." He laid the photograph face down on the coffee table. "Emily and I are worried about you."

Jack reached for the photo and turned it over. He looked at it for a moment, then focused on Arvin. "What if the KGB took Sydney?"

"Jack—"

"No, listen. The Director mentioned Irina Derevko may have already started Project Christmas on Sydney. What if the Russians want to finish the job?"

Arvin thought for a moment then nodded. "It's one possibility. But it's also entirely possible Sydney wandered out on her own and got lost. Or – and this makes me sick to think of it – she's been taken by someone else, someone who saw her and liked her—"

Jack stood. "No. It's too clean. It happened too quickly. This was planned and executed perfectly."

"Jack—"

"I need to contact someone who'll be able to tell me—"

The phone rang, silencing both men. Jack picked up the receiver. "Bristow."

"Hi," a cheerful voice replied, "I'm calling on behalf of Hoover Deluxe. Would you be interested in a demonstration of our newest model--?"

"No." Jack slammed the phone down. He looked at Arvin and shook his head. "If this was about money, someone would have called already."

"Okay," Arvin said, "let's say for second that you're right and the KGB is behind this. What do you propose to do?"

"Get in touch with my contact first. If they can confirm it, then – then I'll do whatever it takes to get my daughter back."

Arvin nodded slowly. "And if it's not the KGB?"

Jack sank back onto the couch, suddenly drained of strength. "I don't know. But I can't just sit around and do nothing."

Arvin held out his car keys for Jack. "Go find your contact. I'll stay here in case someone calls."

* * *

_Cape Town_

"Rishka, are you on some kind of health kick?"

Irina looked up from the chopping board and smiled at Andrei. She popped a slice of mango into her mouth before replying. "We don't eat enough fruit in this house."

"Maybe not, but that's no reason to go overboard." He gestured to the assortment of fruit spread out on the kitchen counter. "Is there any kind of fruit you don't have here?"

Irina ate another piece of mango and shook her head.

"Did you leave anything for other people to buy?"

"I'm making fruit salad, Andryusha." She addressed him as if he was a small child. "I'll need more than one kind of fruit."

"Does Prudence know you've taken over the kitchen?"

She nodded, and reached for a piece of papaya.

"You know, if you eat it all now, what are you going to put in the salad?"

Smiling, she tossed the top of a pineapple at Andrei, catching him square in the forehead.

"Ouch!"

"Don't be such a baby. I didn't throw it that hard."

He picked it up from the floor and looked at Irina incredulously. "It's a pineapple! You don't have to throw it hard for it to hurt."

"Well, at least it wasn't the whole pineapple."

Andrei studied the object in his hand, then looked at Irina. She held up the chopping knife.

"Don't throw things at women with knives."

Shaking his head, Andrei tossed the pineapple onto the counter and left the room. Irina watched him go, then resumed slicing the mango.

By the time she'd finished the salad, her hands were sticky with fruit juice and as she held them beneath the faucet, she remembered making fruit salad with Jack. They'd got distracted, and the salad was never finished. That was the week before they got distracted making toast and almost burned the house down.

Irina felt a momentary twinge of sadness for what had been lost. She thought of the letter she'd written Jack and knew she'd been wrong. But what was done was done, and all Irina could do know was hope that Jack and Sydney were safe and happy.


	27. Chapter twenty six

Chapter twenty-six

_Los Angeles_

"You don't need to do this alone," Arvin said. "Let me come with you."

Jack was shoving clothes into a bag. He didn't stop what he was doing to address Arvin. "There's no use both of us losing our jobs."

He couldn't believe the Director had refused to sanction his going to Russia. "You've got vague information from a source you're not sure you can trust," the Director had said. "We've heard nothing from our people on the inside. The Russians don't kidnap little girls from ballet class, Jack. Go home and wait for the police to do their job."

"Jack," Arvin said, "You know I care about Sydney as if she was my own, but I agree with the Director on this one. I don't think the KGB is responsible for this."

Jack looked up and studied his friend. "What, then? It's been a week and the police have found nothing! I'm going crazy thinking about what could be happening to Sydney right now and I know – I just _know_ . . ."

The last thing he packed was the book Irina had given Sydney; when he found her, he decided, they would continue reading it.

Arvin seemed hesitant to respond. "It's just – what happened with Laura – I can understand why you're reacting like this, but you can't seriously believe the Russians are behind every bad thing that happens to you."

"It's Christmas next week, Arvin. I'd like to spend it with my daughter." Jack zipped up his bag. "Now, will you give me a lift to the airport or do I need to call a cab?"

* * *

_Cape Town_

As part of her resolve to move on with her life, Irina had accepted Andrei's invitation to attend a friend's Christmas party with him. The cast on her wrist had finally been taken off and it was good to be able to feel something other than plaster on her skin.

Andrei's friends seemed nice, she thought as she glanced around the living room. A young married couple who never moved far from one another, a skinny woman wearing dark clothes and heavy make up, and another couple who were good-naturedly teasing each other.

Irina's gaze fell on the Christmas tree in the corner. In her mind's eye she saw their tree in Los Angeles and she felt the familiar tug at her chest. She took a deep breath and looked away. When she noticed that Andrei was watching her, she smiled to show she was okay.

A child ran into the room. "Mommy!"

Irina froze. Long brown hair in pigtails. Sydney.

No. She took another breath.

Elizabeth – the hostess – smiled as she hugged the child. "What are you doing down here, munchkin?"

"I want to come to the party too."

"But this is a grown-ups' party. But, tell you what; you can say hello to all of my friends and then it's bedtime, okay?"

"Okay."

The girl greeted each of the guests, then finally stopped in front of Irina. "Hello," she said.

"Hello." Irina didn't see her; all she saw was Sydney.

"Okay, Sarah. Back to bed."

Andrei sat next to Irina and touched her arm, bringing her back to reality. "Are you okay?"

She nodded.

"You're looking pale."

"I'm fine." She smiled weakly. "It's just, for a moment . . . Never mind. I'm fine."

* * *

_Moscow_

Jack sat on a bench in Gorky Park and watched the skaters. Now that he was here, he wondered if he'd made a mistake in coming. He'd been waiting for an hour, but the contact he was supposed to meet had failed to show up yet. Maybe he'd walked into a trap; he knew he was probably being watched. If he ended up in Lubyanka there was nothing he could do for Sydney.

No. He had to believe he'd done the right thing in coming. He would not – could not – fail Sydney.

He did not want to tell Irina that he hadn't been able to protect their child. If anything happened to Sydney, it would kill Irina.

Maybe he should have told her, he thought. She could have helped.

A gust of wind whipped past him, chilling him right to the bone. He wondered how any of the skaters could bear the cold. Jack tugged his hat further to cover his ears then crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to generate some warmth.

A woman sat next to him, her cheeks tinged red from the cold. She smiled at Jack and offered the bottle of vodka that she'd been sipping from.

He shook his head. "No, thanks," he said in Russian.

"It'll warm you up." She inched closer. "I can guarantee it's just what you're looking for."

He studied her for a moment, then accepted the bottle. "Thanks."

"We have a mutual friend," she said as Jack took a sip. "She apologizes she can't come herself."

Jack handed the bottle back to her. "Who are you?"

"You can call me Galina." Her smile widened. "I'll take you where you need to go."

"That wasn't the arrangement."

"I don't have the information you want. I can only take you to someone who does." She stood and held out her hand. "It's no loss to her if you don't want to know."

Jack stood and followed Galina along the path to where a car was parked. She opened the door and gestured for him to get in, then slid in after him. There was a man sitting on the other side of Jack, and he became even more uneasy about the situation.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

Galina smiled at him, pulled a gun from her coat pocket, and fired.


	28. Chapter twenty seven

Chapter twenty-seven

_Cape Town_

Irina thought she must be insane to have come to the mall on Christmas Eve. It appeared that the whole city had left their shopping until the very last minute. Irina was trying her hardest not to get frustrated; everyone was in a rush and more than once, someone had bumped into her as they moved past.

She would have gone home, except Andrei was in disgustingly cheerful mood. Not that coming to the mall had helped; carols were being played over the speakers and there were festive decorations on all the store windows.

And lots of dark-haired, brown-eyed girls who reminded her of Sydney.

This would be their second Christmas apart; but at least this year Sydney would have Jack with her. She wondered how her daughter had spent the previous Christmas; probably with the Sloanes.

_I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't mean it. Come back._

She stopped outside a bookstore and went inside, drawn immediately to the children's section. Without giving it much thought, she bought a copy of _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. It was only once she'd left the store that she realized what she'd done.

Unable to stay in the mall a minute longer, she returned home. Andrei was in the living room when she arrived. Ignoring him, she dropped the shopping bag onto the nearest couch and headed straight for the wine cabinet. When the door refused to open, she turned to face her cousin, who was watching warily.

"Give me the key."

"No."

"Andrei, please."

He shook his head. "No. I know this is a difficult time of year but the alcohol is not going to help."

"Nothing helps!" She picked up the shopping bag and tossed it to Andrei. "Look. It's Sydney's favourite book. I didn't even know I'd bought it until I was out of the shop!"

Andrei lifted the book from the bag and looked at it. "Ira, don't do this to yourself."

"One glass of wine, Andrei. Just one." She hated how desperate she sounded.

"I'm sorry."

"Fine." She began walking towards the door but Andrei stepped in front of her and grabbed her shoulders.

"No. You're not going out to drink."

She glared at him, furious that he'd guessed her intentions. "Andrei—"

"I promised Jack I'd look after you."

Her will to fight disappeared. "Jack's not coming back. I told him I didn't want him to."

"Nevertheless, I won't watch you destroy yourself." He guided her to the couch, then sat beside her and pulled her closer to him. Keeping her in place with an arm around her shoulder, he added, "It'll be okay, Ira."

She leaned against him and let herself cry.

* * *

_Los Angeles_

Arvin watched Emily laugh with the party guests but he could see her heart wasn't in it. She was worried about Sydney; the police still knew nothing more about her disappearance. As he'd promised Jack, he was keeping track of the investigation – but it was difficult as there were really no leads. All they had was Sydney's sweater, and two little girls who thought they'd seen Sydney go into the bathroom.

Arvin had yet to tell Emily where exactly Jack had gone – all she knew was that he was following his own leads. Her reaction had been a surprise to Arvin: "You should have gone with him."

Though Arvin had heard nothing from Jack, he wasn't worried yet. He'd been in enough tight spots with Jack to know that his friend was perfectly capable of handling himself. When Jack returned, Arvin thought, it might be the right time to tell him what he had been thinking recently. If Sydney was never found, Rambaldi might be exactly what Jack needed to survive. Nothing less than what Rambaldi had to offer would be enough for Jack after yet another loss. Arvin knew how much he had loved his wife and wasn't naïve enough to think that just because she'd turned out to be the enemy that Jack loved her any less. He still kept her photograph in the house.

Losing Sydney, Arvin believed, would push Jack over the edge. Rambaldi might keep him from falling. Arvin would have to make him see that.

He wondered what Jack would do if he ever found out the truth about his wife; that she had died not in that icy river, but in a Soviet prison months later. No, he thought, it was kinder to keep this from him.

The phone rang, but Emily was deep in conversation at the other end of the table. Arvin excused himself and went to the study to answer.

"Sloane."

"Arvin, it's Ben. I need you to come in."

"It's Christmas Eve."

"It's about Jack."

Twenty minutes later, Arvin entered the office to find a somber Ben Devlin waiting in the bullpen. "Did you know Jack went to Russia?"

Arvin nodded.

Ben sighed. "We received some intel earlier today – Jack was spotted in the company of this woman in Moscow."

He handed a folder to Arvin. Inside was a photograph of a pretty blonde woman, someone Arvin recognized instantly. "Raisa Chornova is a known KGB assassin."

Ben nodded solemnly. "One of our agents over there confirmed they got into a vehicle together. That's the last time Jack was seen alive."

Arvin said nothing.

"Chornova and her partner blew up the car. There's not enough left of the body for any positive ID but . . ."

"But it's Jack."

"What was he doing over there, Arvin?"

"Looking for his daughter." Arvin let the folder fall to the desk and he turned to leave.

He drove to the Bristow house instead of going home. A light burned on the porch but the rest of the house was dark. There was a time, Arvin thought, when he'd envied Jack and Laura. Their lives seemed perfect; and now they were both dead.

He'd have to tell Emily, somehow. Not the details, of course; he'd spare her that. But Jack had been her friend too.

It was strange how quickly life was cut short. One minute Jack and Sydney were having dinner with him and Emily, and in the next Jack's remains were being flown back to the US, where he would be buried next to his wife's empty grave.

And what of Sydney? Arvin wondered. Most likely she was already dead.

He couldn't bear to think of her like that; maybe one day she would be found. He and Emily would raise her, and they would be the family she deserved to have.

The family Emily deserved to have.

A glance at his watch told him his dinner guests would have left by now, and Emily was probably wondering what was taking so long.

News like this shouldn't be shared at Christmas, he thought as he started his car again. He would tell her the day after tomorrow, and then they could grieve together.


	29. Chapter twenty eight

Chapter twenty-eight

_Cape Town_

Irina sat in the car and stared at the house. Christmas had come and gone but the heaviness in her heart was still there. She'd read somewhere that the highest rate of suicide was around Christmastime; she could believe that. Sighing, she picked up the pizzas Andrei had asked her to fetch and got out the car. The last thing she felt like doing tonight was being nice to his friends, especially since Andrei had forbidden her from drinking anything.

"Bastard," she murmured as she walked up to the house, but there was no malice in her tone.

"Food's here!" She went straight into the kitchen and set the boxes on the table. "It's self-service tonight."

"Let me give you a hand with that."

She looked up at the familiar voice and stared at Jack in shock for a moment before it sank in that he was really there. Then she launched herself at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, pressing kisses to his face. "I told you not to come back."

He chuckled. "I knew you didn't mean it."

"You're right." She continued kissing him. "We need to rethink this whole thing."

"Did you miss me?"

"Not at all." She tightened her hold on him.

"I have a Christmas present for you. I'm sorry it's late."

She slid her feet to the ground so she was standing, but didn't let go of Jack. "It's enough that you're here."

"You'll like this present, I'm certain." He took her by the hand and led her to the living room.

Irina stopped in the doorway, unable to move or speak or think as she saw her gift: Sydney, asleep on the couch. She couldn't look away.

"Why don't you wake her for dinner?"

Irina slowly approached her daughter, then knelt on the floor next to the couch. She stared at Sydney for a long time and all she could think was _my baby. _Her hand trembling, she reached up to brush Sydney's hair out of her face.

Sydney's eyes flew open at her touch, and when she saw her mother she broke into a grin. "You're here!"

Irina could do nothing as Sydney jumped up and hugged her with a strength surprising for her size.

"Daddy said you were coming! This has been the best Christmas ever! I got to see the pyramids, Mommy. They're so big; have you ever seen them?" Sydney paused to draw breath then continued at full speed. "But this is the best part! I missed you so much, Mommy! But Daddy and Aunt Katya explained why you couldn't come home. Daddy said you missed me too. Did you, Mommy?"

"Yes," was all Irina managed to say through her tears.

"I'm sorry we didn't come sooner, Mommy, but we thought you died."

"Oh, sweetheart—"

"You know, Mommy, Aunt Katya's real nice."

"Sweetheart, why don't you let Mommy get up off the floor?"

"I'm okay, Jack." Irina pulled Sydney closer.

"Yes, Daddy, we're okay."

"Okay, then." Jack lowered himself to the floor and Irina released Sydney only long enough to reach for Jack and pull him into the hug.

It was late by the time they got to bed. Irina wasn't ready to let Sydney out of her sight yet, and now all three Bristows were in her bed. Irina was in the middle – "So we can share Mommy," Jack had said. Lying there, between her husband and her child, Irina had never felt more loved. When Sydney's breathing evened out and Irina was sure she was asleep, she carefully rolled over to face Jack.

"Hi," she said.

He rubbed his nose against hers. "Hi."

What started out as a simple goodnight kiss quickly turned into something more and eventually Jack pulled back. "We need to stop."

Irina felt the warmth of Sydney's body against her back and nodded in agreement. Then she whispered, "Get up quickly."

Jack slipped out of bed and Irina did the same, then gestured for him to follow her to the bathroom. Once inside, she lifted her T-shirt and let it drop to the floor. She stood in front of him wearing nothing but her bra and panties, her smile as shy as if this was the first time she was offering herself to him.

"You're beautiful," he said, and traced an invisible line from her shoulder down to her hip. "You take my breath away."

She stepped towards him and tugged his shirt off. Then she placed both her palms against his chest and looked up at him. "You're really here."

"Yes." He reached behind her to unclasp her bra, then pulled her close so that they were chest to chest, skin on skin. "Don't send me away again."

She shook her head.

His hands slid slowly down her back, then he hooked his thumbs in the elastic of her panties and began teasing them down her hips. "I need to be inside you."

"Yes."

They made love against the door, slowly and quietly so as not to wake Sydney, Irina watching in the mirror. _My husband. My Jack._

_My family._


	30. Chapter twenty nine

Chapter twenty-nine

Irina sat on the kitchen counter, watching Jack make pancakes. He glanced at her and caught her staring at him. Grinning, he asked, "Like what you see?"

"Hmm." She smiled. "How long can you stay?"

"Forever and a day."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Really?"

"If that's okay with you."

"Of course it's okay with me!" She slid off the counter and walked up to Jack, putting her arms around his waist as she leaned against his back. "I was a fool to send you away."

They stood in silence for a moment; and Irina could pretend nothing had changed, that the last year was just a bad dream. "Won't the CIA be looking for you?" she asked.

"The CIA thinks I'm dead." He finished the last pancake and turned to face her. "Jack Bristow was killed by an assassin in Moscow."

"What were you doing in Moscow?"

"Looking for Sydney."

Irina frowned. "Sydney wasn't with you?"

"You have enough pancakes there to feed an army," Katya said from the doorway.

Irina looked from Jack to her sister, then stepped out of Jack's arms to embrace Katya. "Katyusha. It's good to see you."

"You look good." Katya held Irina at arms' length to examine her, then hugged her again. In Russian, she said, "You look happy."

"I am."

"Uh, I'm going to wake Sydney before the pancakes get cold." Jack slipped out past the sisters.

"Were you here last night?" Irina asked. "I didn't see you."

"Yes, I came with Jack and Sydney."

"With Jack? But – an assassin in Moscow. Was that you?"

Katya grinned and shook her head. "Raisa. She owed me a favour."

Irina stared at her sister for a moment, not sure what to say.

"You know, Irushka, I don't think Jack and I will ever be friends, but I have to admit there are certain qualities I find admirable."

Irina narrowed her eyes. "What qualities?"

"He's smart. I can see why you like him."

"Intelligence was never the quality you admired in men, Katyusha."

Katya laughed. "Jealous, Ira? Now this is the sister I remember. I don't think you have anything to worry about, Irisha. A man who gives up everything for a woman is a man who will never give her up."

"And – so the CIA thinks Jack is dead. What about Sydney?"

"A couple of weeks ago, Sydney disappeared from ballet class." Katya sighed dramatically. "Very tragic. The police still don't know what happened."

Irina quickly filled in the missing pieces; naturally Jack would have suspected KGB involvement, which explained the trip to Russia. "Was this Jack's idea?"

"Down to the last detail. You see why I said he was smart?"

"So who was Sydney with?"

"Her favourite aunt." She winked. "Of course, we did some improvisation. I don't think Jack likes it when people don't follow his plans to the letter."

"What do you mean, improvisation?"

Katya's smile widened. "A touch of realism. Sydney wasn't supposed to disappear until the following day."

"Katya, this is my daughter's life you were playing with—"

"Sydney's fine." Katya waved her hand in the air between them. "She handled the whole thing like a star."

Irina felt something twist in her gut. Her voice rose a notch. "You let her think she'd been kidnapped?"

"Oh, Sydney knew beforehand."

"She's seven years old!"

"Morning, Mommy!" Sydney skipped into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Irina's waist.

Irina switched back to English to address her daughter, but also as an attempt to distance herself from what she'd just learned. "Good morning, sweetheart." To Jack, standing in the doorway, she said, "You let our daughter go off – unsupervised – with my sister? Katya, you don't even like children."

"I like this one." Katya smiled at Sydney. "Must be because she's a Derevko."

"Aunt Katya and I had fun, Mommy. Aunt Katya, can we go on another adventure soon? Can Mommy come with?"

In Russian, Irina said, "I know your idea of fun, Katyusha. What kind of adventure did you take my child on?"

Jack was following the exchange with an amused expression on his face.

"I didn't corrupt her, if that's what you're worried about," Katya said, also in Russian.

"We saw the pyramids, Mommy. And the, umm, the sss—"

"Sphinx," Katya said.

"Yes. It doesn't have a nose."

Irina looked down at Sydney and smiled. Addressing Katya, again in Russian, she asked, "How much did you tell her about what happened?"

"That you were taken away by bad men, and that Jack rescued you. She thinks it's a fairytale."

"When did you tell her?" Irina looked from Katya to Jack. "How much time has she had to process everything?"

Katya brushed her hand over Sydney's head. "She's fine. Stop worrying and be glad that you're all together again."

"I told her two days ago, when we met up with each other again," Jack said.

"I can't understand what you're saying," Sydney pouted.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Irina steered Sydney to the kitchen table. "Look, Daddy made pancakes."

Sydney poured syrup over her pancakes until Irina had to take away the jug.

"Okay, that's enough."

Sydney smiled and started to eat. Jack put his arm around Irina's waist and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"She's okay," he said.

"Mommy, Aunt Katya, come eat," Sydney said through a mouthful of pancake.

"This conversation isn't over," Irina said as she sat down next to Sydney.


	31. Chapter thirty A

Chapter thirty

Sydney snuggled closer to Irina on the couch; they were watching Jack and Andrei play chess. Katya was curled up on another couch, sipping tea as she slowly paged through the photo album Jack had given Irina on his last visit. Irina stroked Sydney's hair; she'd forgotten how soft it was. Even with Sydney right next to her, Irina needed to be touching her to remind herself this was real.

She glanced around the room and smiled. If only Mama and Elena were here, her whole family would be together. She thought of her father and Sasha and had to blink back sudden tears.

"Mommy?" Sydney's voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Daddy says we're going to live here now."

"That's right."

"Oh." Sydney was quiet for a moment. "Does that mean I won't see my friends again?"

"Sweetheart, I—"

"It's okay," Sydney said bravely, though there was a quiver in her voice. "I'd rather be with you."

Irina wanted to respond, to tell Sydney she'd make new friends, but she kissed Sydney instead. "I love you, baby."

Sydney smiled. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. Much better."

Sydney reached up and placed her hand on Irina's forehead, her brow creased in concentration. She looked so serious that Irina couldn't help but smile. "Daddy's pancakes didn't make me sick," Sydney said, then bit her lip thoughtfully. "Maybe you're allergic."

"Maybe." Irina looked at Sydney and thought how much she'd grown up in the last year.

Sydney linked her fingers through Irina's and resumed her previous position. "Daddy says we have to pick new names so the bad people can't find us. He says I can pick any name I want."

"And have you picked one?"

"Yup." Sydney paused and tilted her head so she could look at Irina. "Katya."

There was a snort of laughter from Katya's direction. Irina glanced at her sister and shook her head, but there was amusement in her tone when she spoke. "You've brainwashed my child."

Katya closed the photo album and stood, stretching before she crossed the room. Irina and Sydney shifted to make space for her on the couch.

"Milochka," Katya said, "maybe you should choose a different name."

"Milochka?" Irina's eyes widened. "Maybe Sydney's the one who brainwashed you."

Katya ignored her. "How about Anya?"

"Do you like it, Mommy?"

Irina wasn't looking at Sydney; her gaze was on Katya. Anya, their mother's name. Irina had chosen Sydney's middle name in honour of her mother; it seemed fitting she should bear her name now. She nodded. "Yes, sweetheart, I like it."

"What's your new name?"

"Sonya." She smiled. "Katya picked it too."

"Sonya. Anya." Sydney giggled. "They sound the same."

Just then, Andrei stood up, cursing in Russian. "Andryusha," Katya chided, "There are children in the room."

Andrei's scowl deepened. "Twice in a row!"

Jack's smug smile told the women all they needed to know. "Andrei's never been a good loser," Irina said.

"You could have warned me," Andrei said.

Jack slowly set the pieces back in their positions. "Want to play again?"


	32. Chapter thirty B

Jack and Irina lay tangled in the sheets, and turned to face each other once their breathing had returned to normal. They had the room to themselves again; Katya had left in the late afternoon so they'd moved Sydney into the room her aunt had vacated.

Jack ran his hand over Irina's ribs, stopping in the dip of her waist for a moment before continuing up over the curve of her hip. "Are you still mad at me?"

She smiled lazily. "When was I mad at you?"

"That I let Katya take Sydney."

"Oh." Irina rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. "Katya always used to be the irresponsible one. She—" She sighed. "I keep forgetting how much everything's changed over the last ten – eleven – years. She's good with Sydney; I never would have imagined that."

"If I could have found another way, I would have taken it."

She turned her head and smiled. "I know you wouldn't deliberately put Sydney at risk. It must have been hard for you to let her go."

"I worried about her too. I'm still worried about her."

"I know."

"But we're together now. That's all that matters."

She caught sight of a newly healed scar on Jack's arm. She traced it slowly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He smiled. "It was a love bite."

"No, Jack, I thought you were – I'm sorry."

He cupped her chin in his hand, tilting her head so she was looking at him. "It doesn't matter."

"Jack."

"It amazes me that you can bear to be touched at all."

"Only by you."

They kissed slowly. Jack rolled so he was on top of her, then began to kiss his way down her body. She felt something hot and wet on her skin, and it took her a moment to realize Jack was crying.

"Jack? Sweetheart?"

He ran his fingers over her belly. "How – How do you get over it?"

_Nadia_. Her breath caught in her throat. "You don't," she managed to say.

"I wish—" He closed his eyes, his face a mask of pain. "I always wanted more children with you."

"Jack—"

"I want our family to be whole again."

Her mouth was dry; her heart beating loudly in her chest. "Jack, I think I'm pregnant."

There it was; the suspicion lurking in the back of her mind finally given voice. She held her breath waiting for his response.

He looked at her in silence, and when he finally spoke it was with a whisper. "Pregnant?"

"Sometime that first weekend," she said with a smile. Then, nervously, "You're okay with it?"

"Yes! You? It's not too soon after – How do you feel?"

"Scared. Happy."

Jack smiled and covered her belly with his hand. "We're having a baby."

"Yes."

"I love you."

She pulled him closer to her.


	33. Chapter thirty one A

Chapter thirty-one

_January 1983  
__Cape Town_

Irina and Jack hurriedly entered the school's foyer, where they had to wait for a few more agonizing minutes before the principal arrived. Jack had been out in the vineyards with Andrei when the phone call had come that there was a problem with Sydney at her new school. Irina had abandoned the preparation she'd been doing for her lectures and ran outside to call Jack. They'd driven to the school as fast as they could, going from feeling worried about Sydney one minute to frustrated at the slow traffic the next.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lewis?"

They turned to face the principal. "What happened?" Irina asked.

"Maybe we'd better talk in my office."

Irina reached for Jack's hand. _They've taken Sydney. Something's wrong._

Elise van Rooyen noticed how pale Irina suddenly turned and quickly added, "Your daughter's fine. But I really think we should talk in private."

Irina nodded, and she held Jack's hand as they followed Elise down the corridor. Once they were in the office, Elise pulled her chair around the desk so there was nothing between her and Jack and Irina.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lewis," she said, "I'm not exactly sure what to say to you."

Irina felt panic rise again. She glanced at Jack; his expression was cold, yet she knew behind the mask, he was as worried as she was.

"Where is Anya?" he asked.

Elise sighed. "Anya." She drummed her fingers on the table. "Anya is with the guidance counselor at the moment."

Irina and Jack exchanged confused glances. "Why?"

"When you came to see me last week, you mentioned that you'd only recently moved to South Africa."

Irina nodded cautiously.

"Could you tell me a little bit more? How are things at home?"

"Just where are you going with this?" Jack asked, ice in his tone.

"In period three, Anya went into hysterics. She began screaming that her name wasn't Anya and that she wanted her mother."

Irina stood. "Where is she?"

"Mrs. Lewis, I have Anya's best interests at heart, please believe that."

Irina could kill this woman, find Sydney and be out of the school in under five minutes; no one was ever keeping her from her child again. She looked at Jack and wondered if he was thinking along similar lines.

"Mrs. Van Rooyen, my child needs me. Now, are you going to show me where she is or do I have to find her myself?"

Elise picked up her phone and dialed through to the office. While she spoke, Irina sat down. In Russian, she said, "Maybe it was too soon."

Jack reached for her hand again. "She'll be okay. We'll work something out."

"Um, excuse me." Elise spoke a bit more timidly now. "If we're going to be able to help Anya, it will still be helpful to know more of her history. You were very vague last week."

"Anya was separated from her mother for a long time," Jack said after a while. "The reason we came here is so we could all live together." He launched into the cover story: an American journalist who married a Russian; they moved to the States and lived there for a few years, then Sonya's father died and she returned home only to have her passport confiscated. He was halfway through the story when there was a knock on the door and a woman entered, gently tugging on Sydney's hand.

Sydney saw Irina and ran to her. She climbed onto her lap and clung to her. "Mommy!"

"Sweetheart, it's okay."

"Don't leave me again, Mommy!"

The story, and Sydney's reaction to Irina, was enough to convince Elise that it was the truth. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lewis. Mrs. Lewis. If there's anything we can do to help . . ."


	34. Chapter thirty one B

They went to the beach. At this time of day it was empty, and going to the beach had been something they'd done frequently in Los Angeles. Sydney refused to let go of her mother and sat on her lap, holding onto her as tightly as she could.

Irina stroked Sydney's hair. "Sweetheart, what happened at school?"

"You weren't there," Sydney mumbled into her neck.

"I know, but none of the other mommies go to school either."

"I thought – what if the bad men come when I'm at school?"

Irina met Jack's gaze. "Sweetheart," he said, "nothing's going to happen to you. I promise."

"Not me! Mommy!"

Irina blinked back tears. "Nothing's going to happen to me either, baby. The bad men don't even know where I am. And I have you and Daddy to look after me, right?"

Sydney looked up, her face wet with tears, hair sticking to her cheeks. "But they got you the first time, even with me and Daddy."

"Well, yes." Irina brushed Sydney's hair out of her face and kissed her forehead. "But that was because I hadn't told Daddy about them. I was scared he'd be mad at me for not telling him sooner, so I didn't say anything."

The look in Sydney's eyes tore at Irina's heart. "But how come you pretended you died?"

"They didn't want Daddy to come find me."

"But he did find you."

"Yes, he did." Irina smiled. "Because he's smarter than they are."

Sydney held her mother's gaze for a long moment, but she didn't smile. "Did you really miss us?"

"Oh, yes, sweetheart. I thought about you every day." Irina kissed her again.

"Did – did the bad men hurt you?"

Irina didn't reply immediately. "Why do you ask that, baby?"

Sydney solemnly took Irina's hand and pushed up the sleeves to reveal the scars left by the handcuffs. "It didn't look like this before."

Irina couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. How could she tell her child what had been done to her? Sydney did not need any new nightmares.

Jack rubbed his hand over her back in silent support, then pulled Sydney onto his lap. "Sweetheart, the men who had Mommy weren't very nice to her. They tied her up so she wouldn't be able to get away, and that's how her wrists got hurt."

Tears streamed down Sydney's cheeks as she looked from Jack, to Irina, then back to Jack. "I hate them," she said, and jumped off Jack's lap. "I hate them and I wish they were dead!"

Jack got up to follow her down the beach, but Irina grabbed his hand. "I'll go."

"Irina—"

"She needs to hear me tell her I'm okay before she'll believe it." Irina walked slowly to where Sydney stood at the water's edge, then reached out to stroke Sydney's hair.

"Why did the bad men take you?" Sydney said a long time later.

Irina bit her lip. "Remember I told you I was born in Russia?"

Sydney nodded.

"Well, when I was a teenager, I was asked if I wanted to go to America. And while I was there I met your father and we fell in love, and then we had you, and I didn't want to go back to Russia when I was supposed to, so the KG-- so the man who had sent me there, came to take me away."

Sydney looked up at her. "Were you scared? When they tied you up?"

"Yes."

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes."

Sydney took Irina's hands a second time, then kissed each wrist. "Better?"

"Oh, sweetheart." Irina fell to her knees and pulled Sydney into a tight hug.

"I don't want you to die again, Mommy."

"I'm right here, Syd. I'll never leave you again. I promise."


	35. Chapter thirty two

Chapter thirty-two

_February 1983_

They settled into a routine: every morning Irina would drop Sydney off at school and she would be waiting for her before the bell rang at the end of the day. She was late only once – by five minutes – but it was enough to scare Sydney into thinking that she'd lost her mother again, and that night Sydney slept in her parents' bed.

Once, Sydney's class teacher had been waiting to talk to Irina. "I just wanted you to know," the young woman said, "I'm really sorry for everything you and your family have been through. Anya's a good girl; I'm sure she'll be just fine once she settles in a bit." She smiled, squinting slightly in the morning sunlight. "I'm praying for you, Mrs. Lewis."

Jack, surprisingly, had been spending most of his days learning the ins and outs of running a vineyard. Irina didn't think he'd be satisfied with that life indefinitely, but he was happy for now, and so was she.

Now that classes at the university were about to start, their routine needed to change. The night before Irina started work, she curled up in bed with Sydney and read to her. Then, as she was tucking Sydney in, said, "Sweetheart, Daddy will pick you up from school tomorrow, okay?"

Sydney sat upright. "No, Mommy!"

"Mommy has to work."

"But, Mommy—"

"What if Daddy fetches you, then brings you by the university before he brings you home?"

Sydney thought about that for a while, then nodded.

"Good girl." Irina kissed her forehead and stood up.

"Mommy, don't go."

Irina hesitated for only a second before she lay down next to Sydney. She stayed there until Sydney fell asleep, then slipped out of the room.

She found that she still enjoyed teaching. Her timetable was fairly light, and she liked the people in the English department. She still dropped Sydney at school in the mornings, and every afternoon Jack picked her up and brought her to the university so she could see her mother before going home.

One afternoon Jack and Sydney snuck into the back of the lecture hall to watch her teach. Afterwards, Sydney came skipping down the stairs. "I want to come to school here, Mommy. Then I can be in your class."

"Sweetheart, this is a school for big people."

"But I'm a big girl. Right, Daddy?" She looked up at Jack and smiled.

"You're my big girl," Jack said, then picked her up and spun her around until she squealed in delight. When Jack set her down again, he asked, "So, are both my girls ready for lunch?"

They drove to a small restaurant on the waterfront, one frequented by the university students. When the three of them entered, Irina spotted some of her students inside, and waved at them. She held back a laugh when Jack possessively slung his arm around her shoulders. He had been the same way in Los Angeles.

"They're kids, Jack."

His tone was too casual. "I know."

Irina stopped walking and kissed him soundly. She pulled back, her chin raised defiantly. Sydney was staring, eyes wide and open-mouthed, at her parents. Irina's students were sniggering. Jack looked smug.

"Umm," a hesitant waitress interrupted, "your table is this way."

When they were seated, Jack gave Irina a questioning look. She nodded, then reached for Sydney's hand. "Sweetheart, Daddy and I have a surprise for you."

Sydney's expression darkened. "Are we moving again?"

"No, no." Irina smiled. "In a few months time, you're going to have brother or sister."

"Oh." Sydney studied the table for a few minutes, then raised her head. "Can I get a puppy instead?"


	36. Chapter thirty three

Chapter thirty-three

_March 1983_

Irina hurried across campus to the lecturers' parking area. She held onto her bag tightly, thinking of the envelope inside it, and quickened her pace. She'd wanted to cry when the doctor showed her the sonogram; in that moment all she'd thought of was Nadia, and she had been filled with the fear that the ghost of Nadia would always be between her and the new baby.

She could barely remember the lecture she'd just given, and was thankful she'd decided to end it earlier than usual. She just wanted to go home.

"Miss Pavlova!" someone called. There were footsteps behind her. "Professor!"

Irritated, she glanced back over her shoulder. She didn't recognize the student from any of her classes. "I can't talk now," she said. "Consultation times are on my office door."

"Irina!"

She stopped, her mind racing. Should she stay and fight? She could incapacitate him and run – maybe she could get home in time to warn Jack. She was unarmed, but her bag was heavy enough to use—

"I have something for you," the man said.

She turned to study him more closely. Tall, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, shaggy blond hair, he looked every inch the student. There was a trace of a Russian accent in his voice, and Irina thought, _KGB_.

"I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong person."

He smiled. "Irina Derevko." He came closer. "Don't worry. I'm not here to blow your cover. I've come to help you."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Not yet, anyway." He held out the satchel he'd been carrying, and Irina noticed a strange tattoo at the base of his thumb. A circle, two diagonal lines meeting at a point on either side. She'd seen it before but couldn't remember where. "Tell me, have you ever heard the name Milo Rambaldi?"

"No. Sorry." She turned away.

He grabbed her arm, forcing the satchel upon her. "Then you need to look at this."

With that, he left, and Irina remained in place for a long time afterwards.

"It sounds like it's supposed to be some kind of prophecy," Irina said, holding a yellowed page up to the light. The satchel she'd been given contained dozens of pages, none of which made much sense to either Irina or Jack.

"About what?"

"I'm not sure."

* * *

Jack scowled at the page he held. "I don't like this. A random man who knows your name – you said he was Russian?"

"I think he was. He spoke in English, but . . ." She shrugged. "What do you think? Is it time to move?"

"Might be a good idea." Jack looked up and caught her gaze. "I won't lose you again."

"You won't." She smiled, and turned her attention back to the parchment. "He said he wanted to help, and then gave me this."

"Do you think he actually expected you to believe in this nonsense?"

She shrugged.

"Do you believe it?"

Irina thought for a moment, then put the page down and moved closer to Jack. She took his hand, turned it so his palm was facing upwards, and lightly traced the lines on it. Then she threaded her fingers through his, and squeezed his hand. "I thought I was destined to live the rest of my life without you and Sydney. You changed that. Destiny isn't fixed. Prophecies don't always come true."

"The woman in this picture—"

"Could have been me. Maybe if we'd never met, or you hadn't come back." She smiled. "I believe in you, in us. Who cares what a man who's been dead for a couple of centuries thinks?"

He kissed her. "So what are you going to do with this?"

"Burn it."

Jack shoved the pages off the bed, then pulled Irina down on top of him. "I take it everything went well with the doctor?"

"Oh, I completely forgot!" Irina freed herself from Jack's embrace, and crossed to the room to where her bag lay. "I have something for you."

Jack sat up, leaning against the headboard, and waited for her to return. She handed him a large manila envelope and grinned.

"Open it."

He pulled out a sonogram image, then looked up at Irina. "It's our baby."

"Jack, I—" Irina covered her belly with her hand. She didn't know how to explain her fear to Jack. "I miss Nadia," she said eventually.

"Come here."

She curled up next to Jack and they sat in silence for a while.

"This baby isn't a replacement for Nadia," he said.

"How would you feel if it was a girl?"

"I would love her as much as I love Sydney, as I love Nadia, as I'll love any other children we might have one day." He kissed her forehead. "It wasn't your fault Nadia died."

"The doctor told me she thinks it's a boy." Irina closed her eyes and leaned closer to Jack. "And I was so relieved when she said that, and I hate myself for feeling that way but—"

"Shh." He kissed her again, this time on the mouth. "It's okay, Irina."

She wanted to believe him.

"Maybe we can call him Alex."

"Alex?"

He brushed his fingers over her belly. "Alexander."

She thought of her brother, laughing as the three girls chased him in the snow.

"Unless – I'm sorry. I don't want to make it more painful for you. I just thought—"

"We always called him Sasha," she said. "Never Alex."

"We can—"

"Alexander Bristow. Alex Bristow." She smiled. "I like it."

His laugh was shot through with relief. "Technically, it'll be Alex Lewis."

Her smile faded. "If we're still here by then."


	37. Chapter thirty four

Chapter thirty-four

"I like Saturdays," Jack mumbled against Irina's belly. "I can have you all to myself—"

There was a loud knock on the door. "Mommy! Daddy! Can I go see the vin, uh, can I go see the grapes with Uncle Andrei?"

"Yes," Irina called. "Be good!"

Jack chuckled, his breath tickling Irina's skin. "Were you addressing me or Sydney?"

"Funny, Jack – Oh!" His fingers found a sensitive spot, and she gave a contented sigh. "Be grateful I locked the door this time."

"My clever wife." He kissed her, teasingly nipping at her lower lip. "Speak Russian to me."

"Why?"

"I want to hear you speak it."

Irina ran her fingers lightly down the side of his face. "Ia tebyu lyublyu."

He caught her wrist with his free hand, and kissed her fingertips. "I love you, too."

She placed her palm over his heart and smiled. "Moya." Mine.

He kissed her. "More."

"More?"

"I like it." Another kiss. "You should start teaching Sydney."

"I wish I could take you to Russia, Jack. Show you where I grew up." Her smile was sad. "I wish you could meet my mother."

"One day," he said.

"Mommy!" Sydney banged on the door again.

"They can't be back already." Jack swore, the curse muffled by Irina's body.

"Mommy! Aunt Katya's here!"

"Give us a minute, sweetheart." Irina laughed, and pushed Jack off of her.

* * *

The mood in the kitchen was a much more somber one than the last time they'd all been together. Despite Sydney's protests, Andrei had taken her out again, leaving Irina, Katya and Jack sitting around the kitchen table.

"I don't understand," Katya said. "No one knows you're here."

"Clearly somebody does." Jack had his arm draped over the back of Irina's chair, but there was nothing casual about the gesture.

"I've heard some vague things about Rambaldi but I haven't actually come across anything myself." Katya ran her fingers through her short hair, and Irina wondered if her sister felt as exhausted as she looked. "It's all so secretive, and now someone just hands you a couple of manuscripts."

"He seemed quite confident I'd be interested in them."

"Were you?"

Irina shrugged non-committally.

Katya glanced around the kitchen, and when she finally looked at Irina again, there was an expression in her eyes that Irina had never seen there before: fear. "I've heard talk of a prophecy. Of a woman."

"It's a fairytale, Katya." Irina reached across the table and held her sister's hand. "It isn't me. I don't believe it. I won't believe it."

"It's not about whether or not you believe, Irushka." Katya sighed. "I thought you were safe here. You're going to have to leave. Don't tell me where you're going."

"Katya—"

"Wait." Jack's tone was ice cold. "How long have you known about this prophecy?"

"A few years."

"A few years?" Irina stared at her sister in shock. "Katya. Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I didn't believe it."

"And you do now?"

Katya shook her head. "No. But others believe it. You wouldn't believe who or how high up this goes. It's bigger than the KGB or the CIA, or any one country. Run, Irushka, while you can."

Irina felt a chill settle in her bones. "This is insane."

"What did you do with the manuscripts?"

"We burned them," Jack said.

Katya closed her eyes, some of the tension leaving her. "Good."


	38. Chapter thirty five

Chapter thirty-five

"How come Aunt Katya couldn't stay?" Sydney looked up from her place at the kitchen table. She'd been given the job of grating cheese for dinner, mostly to keep her occupied while Irina tried to think. Irina glanced at the clock on the wall, wondering how much longer it would be before Jack returned from taking Katya to the airport.

"Mommy?" Sydney stopped working altogether and was looking expectantly at Irina.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

Sydney sighed. "You're not listening to me. Why'd Aunt Katya have to leave?"

Irina turned back to the vegetables she'd been chopping. She wanted Jack with her when she explained to Sydney that they had to move. There was a part of her that resented it; she'd just got her life back together, Sydney was settling in, they liked it here.

She didn't want to think of ridiculous prophecies and mysterious people dropping into her life unannounced.

"Mom." A whine crept into Sydney's voice.

"Aunt Katya had to go back to work, Sydney. That's why she couldn't stay." Irina's tone was sharper than necessary. Unbidden, the words she'd read the previous night sprang to mind – _This woman here depicted, will possess unseen marks . . ._

She shuddered.

"Mommy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, sweetheart." She realized she'd chopped the carrots too fine; they were useless now. _Pull yourself together_, she thought. "What did you and Uncle Andrei do today?"

"We went on an inspection," Sydney said. "Uncle Andrei says all the grapes here are his. That's a lot of grapes, huh, Mommy?"

"Mm-hmm."

"But he said I could have some. He said next time he'd name the wine after me."

"Really."

"Mommy, you're not listening again."

Irina glanced at the clock again and tried to convince herself that the queasiness she felt was morning sickness, and not worry. Where was Jack? Surely there couldn't be too much traffic on a Saturday.

"Uncle Andrei says we're going on another inspection on Monday. After school. 'Cept then we get to see how they make wine." Sydney paused. "He said I had to ask you if I could taste some wine then."

"What? Taste – Absolutely not."

Sydney sighed again. "He said you'd say that."

There was a loud noise from outside, similar to the sound of a car backfiring. Irina knew better. She turned around. "Sydney, come here."

"Mommy, I'm not finished grating—"

"Sydney, do as I tell you."

As Sydney got to her feet, there was a chuckle from the doorway, and the last person Irina had ever wanted to see again stepped inside.

"So this is where you've been hiding, my little witch."

Stunned, Irina could do nothing but stare at Gerard Cuvee. She held out her hand to her daughter. "Sydney, come here."

"You look surprised to see me." He smiled. "Did you miss me?"

Sydney was also immobile, her gaze fixed on the gun in Cuvee's hand. "Sydney," Irina repeated.

Cuvee stepped closer to her, spurring Irina into action. "Stay away from her."

Cuvee traced Sydney's jaw with the barrel of his gun, and smiled at Irina. "Pretty little thing," he said. "But she's not what I came for."

Irina thought of everything Cuvee had done to her, and she knew she'd go through it all over again if it meant keeping Sydney safe. Surprisingly calm, she smiled at Cuvee. As she leaned against the kitchen counter, her hand closed around the handle of a knife. Cuvee's gaze raked her from head to toe, and she recognized the expression on his face.

"Mommy?" Sydney was pale, wide-eyed and trembling. Her gaze flickered to the floor, and when she looked up again, tears spilled down her cheeks. There was a small pool of urine at Sydney's feet, and Irina felt her heart shatter further.

"Of course I missed you," she said. "If you come here, I'll show you just how much."

Cuvee just smiled. "Don't worry, my pet. We have plenty of time to get reacquainted."

His gun was still disturbingly close to Sydney's head.

Then, when Irina thought the situation couldn't possibly get any worse, her sister walked in, crossed to Cuvee's side, and kissed him, keeping her gun trained on Irina.


	39. Chapter thirty six

Chapter thirty-six

Then, when Irina thought the situation couldn't possibly get any worse, her sister walked in, crossed to Cuvee's side, and kissed him, keeping her gun trained on Irina.

Irina couldn't breathe.

"Hello, Irishka," Elena said. "It's been a long time."

"Elena—"

Elena bent down to look at Sydney. "Hello. I'm your Aunt Elena."

Sydney raised her chin, slightly less pale now that there were no guns pointed at her head. "My aunt's name is Katya."

Elena smiled affectionately. "Yes, but I'm the oldest. You had an uncle too, you know. You should ask your mother about him sometime."

"Lena, don't—" Irina began.

"You know Uncle Andrei?"

"Yes, but I'm not talking about him." Something in Elena's expression changed, and Irina knew for certain: it had not been a car backfiring earlier. She felt grief lance through her, and pushed it aside. Now was not the time.

But where was Jack?

"Sydney, come here." She took a chance; if she could get Sydney away from Cuvee—

Sydney glanced nervously at Cuvee, but it was Elena who stopped her, keeping her in place with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"I'm not going to hurt her, Irina. She's my flesh and blood, too."

Cuvee moved around the table, towards Irina. The expression on his face was one that had filled Irina's nightmares for months, and she knew exactly what he intended to do. If he touched her, she decided, she would kill him. For what he'd done to her, for pointing a gun at Sydney. She was grateful for an earlier opportunity to slip the knife up her sleeve. Now, its weight comforting against her arm, she relished the thought of plunging it into Cuvee's side.

"While the two of you are getting to know each other," he said to Elena, "I'll keep your sister entertained."

Elena tilted her head to one side, her lips pursed, then raised her gun and fired one bullet into Cuvee's head. He dropped to the floor. Sydney screamed. Irina stepped forward in relief – she'd come to help, she thought – and froze when Elena swung her arm to aim the gun at her.

"Elena—"

"Oh, don't pretend you're sorry he's dead. I know what he did to you."

Irina looked at her sister. It took a minute for her to understand, and when she did, she felt suddenly light-headed. The moment passed quickly, and the feeling was replaced by anger.

"You knew I was in prison? All those months, you _knew_, and you left me there?"

Elena shrugged. "I needed you there."

"What?"

"I needed you broken. You'd never have embraced Rambaldi otherwise. I thought you were the Chosen One in the prophecy; I needed you to choose to follow Rambaldi."

Rambaldi again. Seven months of her life. Nadia. "You are not my sister."

"Oh, come now, Irishka. Who do you think it was who let Bristow walk out with you?"

"Why – Why would you let me escape?"

"Because they'd broken you." Elena's tone was matter-of-fact, as if they were discussing something as mundane as the weather. "I didn't need you there anymore."

"Was Katya a part of this?" Irina was afraid of the answer, but she had to ask.

"Katya?" Elena laughed. "No. Well, not that she was aware of, anyway."

"Get away from my daughter," a new voice said, and Irina wanted to cry with relief. Jack.

He stepped fully into the kitchen, a gun trained on Elena, and kept his eye on her as he slowly moved into a better position.

"You sure you can shoot me before I kill your wife?" Elena sounded amused. "Are you willing to risk that?"

"Daddy!" Sydney looked at his gun in shock. "D-Daddy?"

"Close your eyes, Sydney," he said.

Elena swiftly brought her arm down, pressing the barrel of her gun into Sydney's neck. "Still willing to take the risk, Agent Bristow?"

"Elena, please!"

"I don't want to hurt her," Elena said. "She's the reason I came."

"What?" Irina looked from Elena to Jack, then back to Elena. "Why?"

"I misread the prophecy. You're not the one he speaks of."

"If you think I'm just going to let you walk out of here with my daughter—"

"Put your gun away, Agent Bristow." Elena didn't look at him. "Sydney is his Chosen One, Irishka. Don't worry about her. I'll love her as if she was my own."

"Elena, please."

Elena smiled. "It really was good to see you again."

She grabbed Sydney's arm and steered her towards the door, keeping her gun against Sydney's neck. "Say goodbye to Mommy, Sydney."


	40. Chapter thirty seven

Chapter thirty-seven

Jack and Irina glanced at each other, their expressions mirroring the other's despair. An entire conversation took place in the silence between them.

_Shoot her?_

_No. _

_What?_

_Don't know._

"You did nothing when Nadia died," Irina said. "You could have sent a doctor to help me. We could have saved her."

"Nadia? Is that what you called her?" Elena turned back to face Irina, a sneer marring her features. "I did you a favour. She would have killed Sydney."

"You're insane," Jack said.

Elena ignored him. "It's prophesied, Irishka. You would have lost both your daughters in the end."

"I don't believe in your prophecies." Irina studied her sister, confused. Elena said Nadia would have killed Sydney, but she hadn't known at that point that Sydney was the so-called Chosen One. There was a look in Elena's eyes that scared Irina; she didn't know this woman who had let her suffer in prison for seven months, who had let her lose a child in order to break her, who wanted to steal her other child. She thought it was entirely possible that Elena had lost her mind.

"You can't fight your fate, Irina. You should know that. You were always such a big believer in destiny."

"Not anymore. You make your own destiny."

Elena smiled. "Do you really want to fight me, Ira? Do you want to lose another baby?"

Irina's blood ran cold and she instinctively covered her belly with her hand.

"I know more than you think. Now, let me leave with Sydney, and I'll leave you and Jack and this child alone. You'll never hear from me again." She aimed her gun at Irina again. "Fight me, and I will kill you."

Irina looked at Sydney, who had gone into a state of shock. Her eyes were glazed over, and she stood motionless. Irina glanced at Jack, whose gun was still fixed on Elena. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, then opened them, suddenly, strangely calm. She bowed her head in defeat. "Alright. You win."

Ignoring Jack's sharp, indrawn breath, she held out her arms. "Sister."

Elena's smile was triumphant as she crossed the room to embrace Irina. "You do believe."

"Yes." Irina let the knife slip out of her sleeve and plunged it into Elena's back. "But not in Rambaldi. I believe in family."

"Ira, you don't – don't know what you're giving up—" Elena dropped to her knees, leaning against Irina, who slowly sank to the floor as well.

"Oh, Lenochka." She pulled her sister closer, awkwardly cradling her on her lap. She smoothed Elena's hair away from her face, then kissed her forehead.

"Rishka—"

"Shh." She hummed a Russian lullaby their mother had taught them, stroking Elena's cheek until her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing stilled. Even then, she held her sister close, and when the lullaby ended, bent over Elena's body and whispered, too low for Jack or Sydney to hear, "Ia tebya lyublyu."

Her grief was too deep for tears and she couldn't even move until Jack knelt at her side and pulled her away from Elena. She didn't hear what he said to her, and it was only Sydney's "Mommy?" that brought her back to herself.

She reached for Sydney, and realized with a start that her hands were covered in Elena's blood.

Sydney didn't seem to care. She flung herself into Irina's arms and held tightly to her.

"Sweetheart, it's okay. It's over now." She looked at Jack, and mouthed, _Andrei_?

He closed his eyes, and shook his head.

Still holding Sydney, she reached for Jack. He put his arms around both of them.

"I'm sorry, Irina."

She couldn't respond.

_-- Three girls chase a boy in the snow. "You can't catch me," he shouts. The eldest girl throws a snowball at him, and he collapses, giggling. "Not fair, Lenochka!" --_

_-- "I think this assignment is stupid," Sasha says. "Worse than that, it's – it's – they're turning you into a whore! I can't believe Papa is letting you accept it."_

_"She's serving her country," Elena says. "That's all that matters." –_

_-- "My little witch." Cuvee grips her wrists so tightly that he leaves bruises. "Miss me?" –_

"Irina."

She blinked, her thoughts returning to the present.

"Irina, we need to get out of here."

"Yes," she nodded, and allowed Jack to help her to her feet. He picked Sydney up, and the three of them left the kitchen. Irina paused at the doorway and glanced back at her sister and the man she'd once considered a friend. It felt like a million years ago. Never had she imagined that it would come to this.

She turned and went to the bedroom to pack.


	41. Epilogue

Epilogue

_July 1984  
__Somewhere on the eastern coast of Australia_

Irina stood barefoot on the beach, watching the two children playing in the surf. A pair of arms encircled her from behind, and she leaned against her husband's chest. She turned her head so that he could kiss her.

"You're up early," Jack said.

"Alex doesn't yet understand the concept of sleeping in."

Jack chuckled. "Like his big sister."

Irina was silent for a moment. "She slept through the night again."

They looked at their children; in the months following their departure from Cape Town, months of constantly moving from place to place, of continually looking over their shoulders, Sydney had been plagued by nightmares. It was only now that they'd found a place to call home that she was beginning to settle.

Alex helped, Irina thought. Sydney adored her brother, doted on him so much that Jack teased that Alex had two mothers.

As Irina watched Sydney chase Alex across the beach, she smiled; Sydney was acting like a little girl again. She'd grown up too fast in the last year.

Here, hopefully, she could learn to be a little girl again, and she and Alex could grow up normally. And Irina and Jack could learn to be ordinary parents who weren't constantly looking over their shoulders.

They'd had a lot to work through too, Irina thought. Especially in the first few weeks when Irina's own nightmares had returned, and she'd had to battle her grief for her sister and her cousin. Jack had been her rock, though he'd been dealing with issues of his own. When he'd found out the dead man was Cuvee, he'd gone back into the house and emptied his gun into the body. Over the following days, he'd been afraid to touch Irina for fear of making things worse for her, and she'd eventually slapped him and told him to stop being an idiot; she needed to be held.

But that was behind them now. They had each other; they had their children. It was all they wanted.

Irina turned to face Jack and wrapped her arms around his waist. She kissed him again. "This is more than I could have hoped for, Jack. I never thought—"

He put his finger to her lips. "We promised each other forever, remember?"

He pulled her closer, and bent his head to hers.

"Mommy and Daddy are kissing again, Alex," Sydney said. "It's 'cause they love each other."

Jack and Irina broke apart, and glanced down. Sydney was standing next to them, holding Alex's hand. He grinned, then held up his arms to be picked up. His mother's eyes, his father's curls; Irina knew he was going to be a heartbreaker one day. She picked him up, and kissed his cheek.

Then wrinkled her nose. "Someone needs his diaper changed."

Alex placed his hands on either side of Irina's face, then gave her a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on her chin. "Kiss Mama."

"I'll change him." Jack took Alex from Irina, accepting his own sloppy kiss from his son, then went up into the house.

"You and Alex have fun?" Irina asked.

Sydney nodded.

"Good." Irina held out her hand. "Want to go for a walk?"

Sydney nodded again, and the two of them slowly strolled across the beach.

"Are we safe here, Mommy?"

Irina stopped walking. "I think so, sweetheart. I can't promise that we won't have to move again one day, but I can promise that Daddy and I won't let anyone hurt you or Alex. Okay?"

Sydney was quiet for a long time. Then, gazing out over the ocean, said, "I'm glad they're dead. Those people who came – I'm not sorry they died."

Irina blinked back tears. One day she would tell Sydney about the Elena she remembered growing up; someone completely different from the woman she'd been at the end of her life.

"Does that make me a bad person, Mommy? Because I'm not sorry?"

"Oh, sweetheart, of course not." Irina hugged Sydney. "I wish you'd never had to go through that, and I'm so proud of you for being so strong, baby. I love you so, so much."

"You're proud of me?"

"Yes."

Sydney smiled. "I love you too, Mommy. Can we have pancakes for breakfast?"

Irina thought for a moment, pretending to give careful consideration to Sydney's request. Then she nodded. "Here's the deal: I'll race you back the house. If you win, we can have pancakes."

Sydney was off like a shot, her laughter a balm to Irina's soul as she chased her across the sand. Irina thought of Nadia then, imagined her following Sydney for the briefest moment, and then she was gone.

Irina's heart felt light.

_The End_.


End file.
